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THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 







































» 






































* 


























THE IMPOSSIBLE 
MRS. BELLEW 


BY 

DAVID LISLE 

AUTHOR OF “A PAINTER OF SOULS,” 
SOUL OF LIFE,” ETC. 




"THE 


“What is left for us, save, in growth 
Of Soul, to rise up, far past both. 

From the gift looking to the giver, 

And from the cistern to the river. 

And from the finite to infinity. 

And from man’s dust to God’s divinity.” 

BROWNING: Christmas Eve. 


* > 
> * > 


NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright , 1916, by 
Frederick A. Stokes Company 


All rights reserved. 



h ' j 

APR 14 1916 


© Cl. A 4 2 8 5 0 3 (/ 

'h o ^ . 






TO 


MY FRIEND 

THE BARONESS DE LA FERTE-GONCER 

OF “LITTLE OLD NEW YORK” 



THE 

IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


CHAPTER I 

44 1 % yT ESSIEURS — faites vos jeux ” 

1VX The monotonous cry cut the stifling air 
in the halls of the Casino. At a big table in the 
Salle Empire a thin hand crept out and twisted a 
little ivory ball. Swiftly it swung round and round 
in the striped basin. 

A small fat man with a Jewish nose and bald 
head suddenly jumped up and began to place 
twenty-franc pieces on 32 and its neighbors. Sev- 
eral women with painted faces and dazzling jewels 
hastened to follow his example. 

“ That old chap has the devil’s own luck.” 

The speaker was an Englishman standing in 
the outer ring of spectators. He had not taken 
the trouble to lower his voice and an indignant 
“ Hush — sh — sh ! ” rose from the players. 

Almost imperceptibly the little white ball began 
to travel less swiftly. A croupier turned a pair 


2 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


of tired amorous eyes on the face of a beautiful 
woman who was sitting close to the Inspector's 
chair. She smiled and suddenly placed nine louis 
on 1 7. 

“ Rien — ne — va — plus.” 

The croupier’s voice was extraordinarily mo- 
notonous. His fevered eyes remained fixed on the 
woman’s face. 

The ivory ball tried to slip into a refuge. It 
wavered — seemed uncertain. Then with a sharp 
click it fell and remained still. 

“ Dix-sept — noir — impair — et — manque.” 

The words were spoken without semblance of 
expression. A quivering sigh rustled the vitiated 
air. The small man with the Jewish nose stuck 
out his lower lip and made angry jabs with a pencil 
on a card. 

Deftly the croupiers raked in piles of gold and 
silver. With amazing swiftness they pushed for- 
ward the sums won by various gamblers. A mo- 
ment later notes and gold for 4,500 francs were 
pushed towards the woman who had pinned her 
faith to 17. She had staked the maximum en plein 
and had won. 

Mrs. Bellew smiled across the table at the friendly 
croupier and pushed the notes and gold into her 
hand-bag. Before shutting the clasp she turned to 
a man seated on a high chair close by and held 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 3 

out a billet de banque. She said a few gay words 
as he produced a flat box which looked like a portly 
cigar-case. Folding the bank-note tightly she 
slipped it through a money-box slit. The people 
round the table stared openly. She was a celebrity. 
One of the most talked-about women in Monte Carlo. 
Her generous tips to the croupiers gave reason to 
all sorts of rumors. 

Betty Bellew leaned back in her chair and waved 
her fan to and fro. The heat was intense. 

Outside in the Casino gardens carpets of pale 
pink begonias coquetted with audacious flashes of 
evening sunshine. Majestic branches of brooding 
chestnuts waved softly before a breath of sea 
breeze. Giant palms threw into shadow the faded 
greens of eucalyptus leaves. Near the lake a great 
bed of scarlet geraniums, framed in furry leaves, 
stared defiantly into the heart of the brazen ball, 
already tinged with crimson, which hung low in 
the sky. There was a whisper of running waters, 
a mysterious rustle of opening leaves. But in- 
side the Casino the heat was terrific. Electric 
lights twinkled from behind artistic globes, but 
electricity alone does not suit the invisible powers 
who govern “ The Tables.’’ With electricity alone 
it might be possible for some adventurous person 
to suddenly, at a critical moment, cut off the cur- 
rent and plunge the room into momentary dark- 


4 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

ness. But each one of the huge oil lamps which 
swung from massive chains above those “ Tables ” 
was a separate guardian. An individual thing 
which radiated light and heat and safety — all at 
the same time. 

Mrs. Bellew’ s fan moved languidly. A tall thin 
man with aristocratic features and malicious eyes 
jostled the people standing behind her chair. He 
leaned over and whispered in her ear. 

Without looking at him she shrugged her shoul- 
ders and turned away her head. 

Paul Ourmansky looked angry. He was ac- 
customed to fawning adulation. People said that 
the Czar had banished him because of a court scan- 
dal which had ended in the suicide of a beautiful 
girl in whom the Empress was interested, but Prince 
Paul was rich enough to force Europe to receive 
him. As a gambler he was extraordinarily lucky. 
In affairs of the heart he had the reputation of be- 
ing invincible. 

The eternal “ Messieurs — faites vos jeux — rien 

ne va plus ” had fallen from the lips of the 

croupiers several times since that notable win on 
17. Mrs. Bellew seemed to have lost interest in 
the game. Her eyes rested dreamily on the ever- 
changing piles of gold and silver. She had been 
yachting all the morning. She felt pleasantly tired. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 5 

Suddenly, without reason, she looked across the 
table. Her eyes encountered the sneering glance 
of a woman who had once been her intimate friend : 
a woman who had been her chief bridesmaid on 
that June morning when she, a light-hearted girl of 
seventeen, had joined her life to that of Lancelot 
Bellew. 

A flood of soft color rose to her face. She felt 
violent. Alice Granville ? 

Eddy Granville’s “ clever” wife! The woman 
who had known how to go the pace without con- 
sequences. Who had known how to make “ poor 
old Eddy ” seem a thorough blackguard even though 
all his friends knew him for “ one of the best.” 
Alice Granville! 

* * * * * * 

The lovely flush died away. Mrs. Bellew’s eyes 
gleamed as she bent over her purse and pulled out 
a bundle of notes. With absolute unconcern she 
looked across and examined the well-preserved face 
of the woman who had been twenty-eight when 
she, Betty Bellew, was seventeen. In that glance 
there was no recognition, nevertheless it was elo- 
quent. It was Lady Granville’s turn to look dis- 
concerted. 

She was a pretty woman with a mass of red-gold 
hair dressed fussily. Her nose was a trifle too 
long and her mouth a trifle too thin, but she had a 


6 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


maid who had learned her business in the service 
of a famous French actress and who was an in- 
comparable masseuse. The pale, aristocratic face 
was free from wrinkles, though in some mysterious 
way it looked definitely unyouth ful. But Lady 
Granville was a “ clever ” woman in more respects 
than one. The wisp of creamy tulle which circled 
and softened her throat had come to be regarded 
as one of her little fads. She was never seen 
without it. At that moment something prompted 
her to raise her hand and to pull the filmy net 
higher up about her chin. Mrs. Bellew looked con- 
templative. The woman with the red-gold hair bit 
her lip. 

“ That horrible creature has marvelous luck. 
They say she has won a pot of money this season.” 
A cynical-looking man, unmistakably an English 
soldier, patted her shoulder softly. 

“ My dear woman, the Devil looks after his own! 
Don’t grudge her a bit of luck.” 

Colonel Manners spoke slightingly, but his. pale 
blue eyes looked greedy as they rested on the 
creamy skin and shining hair of the woman on 
the opposite side of the table. Mrs. Bellew glanced 
at him and he smiled slyly. Her eyes rested on 
his face for a second: then they slowly wandered 
on. The sly smile turned to a scowl. He turned 
to his companion and said something in a low voice. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 7 

She laughed insolently. At that moment a tall man, 
with broad shoulders, quietly, but with intention, 
pushed the Colonel aside. 

“ Damn it all, sir — what d’you mean? ” 

The tall man glanced over his shoulder, but of- 
fered no apology. A chef de table moved uneasily 
in his high chair and made a noise with his lips. 
Colonel Manners stared at the intruder through 
his eye-glass and seemed about to fight for his place. 
Then, impressed, possibly, by the obvious vigor of 
the offender, he moved a little to the left. The 
great room was crowded. 

A triple row of excited spectators stood round 
each of the long roulette tables. The atmosphere 
was stifling. A peculiar odor, which was not offen- 
sive but which seemed impregnated with some subtle 
narcotic, filled the air — the odor of money allied 
to strange perfumes and fevered breath. The 
green tables were partly hidden by their human 
frames. 

The most democratic crowd in the world ! 

Here a Russian princess, with nervous fingers 
loaded with gorgeous jewels. By her side a famous 
demi-mondaine from the cabarets of Paris. Close 
by a wrinkled, painted wreck who was surely 
“ somebody’s grandmother.” Men and women of 
all ages — of many different nationalities. Each 
one listening to the chink of gold. Each one breath- 


8 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


ing in poisoned air which reeked of amber and 
patchouli. 

The woman who had been sitting beside Mrs. 
Bellew grasped an empty purse and suddenly rose 
to her feet. Prince Ourmansky slipped into her 
vacant chair. He leaned over and said something 
to Mrs. Bellew, but she hardly noticed him. Her 
eyes were resting on the face of the man who had 
elbowed the English Colonel. 

He was her mascot ! 

This was how she thought of him. This was 
how she had been thinking of him for more than a 
week. From the first he had attracted her and 
she had quickly learned his name. “ Helstan ” — 
John Helstan, the famous novelist. The man 
who had written A Woman of To-morrow and A 
Girl — or Two , etc. She had once seen a portrait 
of him in a picture paper and, because she liked 
the way his hair grew on his forehead, she had cut 
it out and kept it. Now the man himself was be- 
fore her and she decided that he was ever so much 
nicer than the picture: nicer and — different. 
Younger. Less defiant. Less — Betty had a little 
weakness for slang — “cocksure of himself.” She 
was too beautiful to be specially vain, but of 
course she had seen at once that she attracted 
him. He was a model so far as manner was con- 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 9 

cerned. He didn’t stare — very much. He never 
seemed to try to make his presence felt, and yet — 
his eyes, which Betty had decided to consider “ de- 
licious,” had spoken to her more than once. When 
he was in the Casino it followed that he was look- 
ing on, he never played so far as she could see, 
at her table. It also followed that when he was at 
her table she almost always won. Certainly he was 
her mascot. 

* * * * * * 

Prince Ourmansky spoke to her again. He 
seemed to make some insistent suggestion. She 
shrugged her shoulders and tapped her fingers 
against the piles of gold that lay in front of her. 
Ourmansky leaned back and crossed his arms osten- 
tatiously. 

Betty furtively glanced across the table. Her 
mascot’s eyes were no longer turned on her. They 
were staring, at least she thought so, at the number 
17. Her lucky number! 

She drew a long breath. The delicate wings of 
her nostrils quivered. She was strongly excited. 

Very deftly, with practised fingers, she began to 
spread gold on the table. 17 — en plein. The 
“neighbors” of 17 in every possible way. Its 
“ dozen.” Its “ column.” Nine louis on each 
chance until she came to “ color.” 

The other players leaned forward and watched 


10 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


her movements. People left the other tables and 
tried to see what was going on. Those in the outer 
rows stood on tip-toe and asked questions in hur- 
ried whispers. Even the tired croupiers seemed in- 
terested. One of them — it was the man with the 
amorous eyes — stared hard at the face of the lovely 
plunger. The words “ rien ne va plus ” were quiv- 
ering on his lips when Mrs. Bellew thrust notes and 
gold for 6000 francs on noir. A sigh of amaze- 
ment ran round the table. It was a maximum and 
on an even chance. 

There was a second of absolute silence. 

Lady Granville’s face looked evil. She leaned 
forward. The Russian prince sat back in his chair 
and stroked his mustache. Just as the monotonous 
“ rien ne va plus ” rang out, he pushed a roll of bank- 
notes nearer to the lovely woman at his side. 

The little white ball ran round and round in 
furious haste. It wavered — made a false attempt 
to find a resting-place — ran on again and then 
dropped into a narrow shelter with a sharp click. 

“ Dix-sept — noir — impair et manque.” Mrs. 
Bellew had won ! 

The room hummed with excitement. 

Women with flushed faces tried to add up the 
amount of that splendid coup. The croupiers to 
a man looked pleased. Even the sedate chef de 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW n 


table seemed interested. The majority of the gam- 
blers nodded and wagged their heads in sign of 
congratulation. Such a win was inspiring. 

Two persons only seemed disappointed. Prince 
Ourmansky and the woman who had been Betty’s 
chief bridesmaid. 

The Russian said some words of polite congrat- 
ulation when a big roll of notes accompanied by 
piles of gold were pushed forward in front of a 
small rake, but his eyes were sullen. As for Lady 
Granville, she made no attempt to hide her disgust. 
Some friends who had just come into the room 
were asking eager questions. She answered with- 
out taking the trouble to lower her voice. 

“ Oh, yes — she had made a big haul. Every one 
says she has ‘ the devil’s luck.’ Who is she ? ” 
— this to an acquaintance who was not well up 
in the doings of London society. “ My dear Mrs. 
Langdon — you ask who is she? Why the Mrs. 
Lance Bellew, of course. The heroine of a per- 
fectly ” 

Some one at the table said “ Sh-sh-sh! ” in a per- 
emptory tone. The remainder of the explanation 
was inaudible. 

The man whom Mrs. Bellew had called her mas- 
cot turned and looked at Lady Granville who was 
still whispering exciting details into Mrs. Lang- 
don’s ear. Just then a nice-looking girl who be- 


12 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

longed to the same party interrupted the confidences. 
She said something breathlessly about “A Woman 
of To-morrow , you know.” They all turned and 
stared at Jack Helstan. The girl, who was an en- 
thusiastic admirer of “ Helstan’s views,” looked at 
him with something like reverence in her clear blue 
eyes. She felt she would have “ simply loved ” to 
speak to him. 

Helstan’s dark eyes passed from face to face. 
When they reached Lady Granville the lines about 
his mouth hardened. Then he turned his back and 
once more looked across the green table. 

Mrs. Bellew was gathering up her money and 
pushing it into her little hand-bag. He waited 
until she stood up and arranged her fur scarf. 
Then he turned away and walked towards the 
door. 


CHAPTER II 


W HEN Jack Helstan reached the big entrance 
doors of the Casino he paused. 

For several minutes he stood on the top of the 
steps and watched the people passing in and out. 

He was tall, apparently slight, but strongly built. 
Very English, and yet in some vague way un- 
English, as if the dominating blood had been di- 
luted, perhaps even strengthened, by an alien, in- 
congruous stream. And in a way this was true, 
for his grandmother on his mother’s side had been 
a Spaniard — born and reared in an old square, 
blue- washed house in sunny Seville. Jack had never 
seen this wonderful grandmother. She, and the lit- 
tle brown-eyed mother too, had died when he was 
very young, but he had always surrounded her mem- 
ory with glamour, and he had learned to speak Span- 
ish quite fluently and in secret when he was still a 
raw school-boy. 

Casual observers said that he looked rather like 
an Italian. By this remark they meant to express 
their conviction that he was not “ quite English.” 
They recognized the presence of warmth which was 
13 


14 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

mental as well as physical. Every one knows that 
Italians are explosive. 

At any rate it was a “ jolly good thing that 
there’s nothing finicking about the chap ” — the 
casual observer said this with gusto, for it’s pleasant 
to feel certain that a writing chap who can write 
is likely to do credit to his own country. 

So far as appearance was concerned Jack 
Helstan was sufficiently English to please the ma- 
jority of his admirers. He had a nice feeling for 
clothes. His coats owed nothing to Italy or Spain, 
and he wore them in the genuine English fash- 
ion which indicates, unconsciously, that there is 
really only one way of wearing clothes. There 
were those, not many women, who held that, for 
a man, his dark lashes were too thick, but his gray 
eyes seemed incapable of looking skew-ways, and 
for that reason every one, even his men friends, 
a numerous band, overlooked the fact that they 
were passionate and eager: that they had curious 
lights in their depths : that they were, in fact, un- 
usual. Still he was a queer mixture. No foreign 
element touched his neckties or shirts, but there 
was an underlying tinge of warmth on his slightly 
browned skin which suggested southern suns. For 
the rest he was clean-shaven and his mouth was 
remarkable. It was large, very firm, really beau- 
tiful in outline: a mouth which was the friend, 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 15 

but not the boon companion of laughter. It was 
a secretive mouth which ran easily in harness with 
the bold square chin and straight nose. Many 
women and all girls said that he was a handsome 
man. At any rate he was not ordinary. People 
found him more than a trifle baffling, notwithstand- 
ing his agreeable manner, but this was due to the 
fact that he was naturally, deep down, exceed- 
ingly reserved. On the surface his tastes seemed 
rather “ foreign.” He had a passion for flowers 
and soft materials and sunsets, and so on. Hap- 
pily he never tried to force his ideas on other 
people, but sometimes he had a queer, really quite 
unconscious way of looking at the ultra-sensible 
ones of the earth as though he found them somehow 
amusing. 

And then he was capable of violence. 

At Oxford, where he had been a general favorite, 
he had achieved a notable scene. A sportive friend, 
cheered on by red wine, had once raided his bed- 
room and brought forth a square of parchment 
which had been tucked away between the leaves of 
a calf-bound edition of The Little Flowers of St. 
Francis. The square of parchment bore the words, 
carefully printed in Indian ink — 

“ Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneel- 
ing and Domine non sum dignus should be on the 
lips and in the hearts of those who receive it.” 


16 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 


The sportive one, encouraged by a dashing 
horde whose breviary was The Rubaiyat, success- 
fully misunderstood by each individual member, 
quickly composed an anthem in which the written 
words were repeated again and again, accompanied 
by appropriate gestures. The fun was furious 
while it lasted, but on that occasion Jack Helstan 
saw red. The devil in him broke loose and the 
brutal fight which followed might easily have ended 
fatally if he had not been dragged off in time. 
The affair was hushed up, but under the rose it 
was still discussed in Helstan’s College. It hap- 
pened to be the College which had once been very 
proud of the man who had conceived the quoted 
words. 

That special act of violence Jack had never re- 
gretted. He had an immense reverence for women, 
and through women for Love. The square of 
parchment, torn and crumpled, still lived with the 
''Little Flowers.” 

* * * * * * 

Jack Helstan stood alone on the top of the Casino 
steps. It was evident that he was looking for some 
one. His eyes were alert. They glanced from 
right to left eagerly. He stood motionless, so cen- 
tered in his own thoughts that he was hardly con- 
scious of the men and women who brushed against 
him each moment. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 17 

Presently he became aware that some one was 
standing still by his side. He looked down. A 
pretty girl, whose cheeks were coated with gray- 
white powder and whose lips were deeply crimson, 
was standing close to him. She looked up into his 
face with an impudent air and then deliberately 
dropped her hand-bag. Helstan stooped and picked 
it up. As he handed it back he looked at the young 
face, which had already lost its freshness. He 
smiled. 

“ Voila, mademoiselle.” 

A pitiful question shot into the girl's crafty eyes. 
For a moment they stood face to face. Then she 
frowned and hurried on into the building. 

A clock struck five. 

The Place du Casino was basking in the rays of 
a brazen, already setting sun. The atmosphere 
teemed with animation. 

Men and women of many different nationalities 
stood about in little groups in the middle of the 
white road, or discussed systems across round tables 
in front of the Cafe de Paris. Now and then a 
big car hooted impatiently and dashed up to the 
Casino steps. 

The sky was blue and rose and — in the circle 
of the sun-god — golden as the heart of a magnolia 
blossom. A flight of white pigeons swept across 
the Moorish domes of the Cafe. As they drifted 


18 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


earthwards their quivering wings seemed to take 
time from the amorous tango-music which floated 
out through the open doors of the restaurant. A 
peculiar mist like opaline gauze hovered over the 
marvelous gardens of the Casino. Odorous shrubs 
gave out a persistent perfume. Carpets of glow- 
ing flowers spread themselves over the brown earth. 
A slight breeze, fresh from converse with the 
sea, rustled the swaying branches of tall palm 
trees. 

It was a magical moment. 

Jack Helstan took off his soft felt hat and passed 
his hand over his hair. 

Suddenly the pupils of his eyes expanded. 

Mrs. Bellew was strolling across the Place with 
Prince Paul Ourmansky. 

A second later they entered the Hotel de Paris. 

Helstan followed. 

His movements were not hurried. He crossed 
the street, slowly mounted the steps of the hotel, 
and passed into the big hall. Immediately an at- 
tendant in Eastern dress spoke to him and indi- 
cated a prominent table. He shook his head and 
slipped into an arm-chair which had been thrust 
into a secluded corner and which was almost hidden 
behind a clump of foliage plants. 

He gave an order and leaned back. 

It was the hour of le five o'clock. The great 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 19 

hall was packed with amazingly smart women and 
their attendant cavaliers. There was a constant 
rustle of moving feet, an insistent hum of gay 
voices, a subtle frou-frou of women’s costly gowns. 
From an alcove there came a murmur of dreamy 
music — the sob of ’cello and violin dominated by 
the passionate notes of a cymbalum torn by gipsy 
fingers. 

Monte Carlo in early Spring! 

Every room in the hotel was occupied. Visitors 
from Nice and Mentone and Cap Martin had come 
to “ the Paris ” for tea. 

The great hall was skilfully broken up. It had 
a cozy air notwithstanding its size. The colors 
in it were cleverly blended. There was a good 
deal of gleaming white woodwork, and masses of 
flowers and palms. Vases of oriental china stood 
on carved pillars, and the comfortable chairs were 
covered with rich brocades in which many soft col- 
ors were blended. Deep reds, warm browns, subtle 
blues that would have delighted Fragonard and 
Nattier. It was not merely a handsome hall in 
which one could have tea; it was also a comfort- 
able lounge in which one might pass an enchanted 
hour. 

From behind his shelter of palms and ferns 
Helstan watched the lovely woman who, half-an- 


20 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


hour before, had staked and won on 17. He had 
seen her before, many times. He had studied 
her face and admired passionately the feminine 
grace of her movements. He admired her more 
than he had ever admired any other woman. She 
had in some inexplicable way tangled herself in 
his thoughts. A case of vehement admiration at 
first sight. 

But he had never tried to intrude himself upon 
her. Indeed, until that afternoon at the gambling 
tables he had not felt sure that she was aware of 
his existence. But that swift glance across the rou- 
lette table? That wonderful glance which had 
surely expressed silent understanding? 

His heart was thumping against the breast pocket 
of his serge coat. He felt triumphant. 

She was conscious of his existence — of his ad- 
miration. She had not seemed angry. 

* * * * * * 

He pushed his chair further back into the corner 
and leaned forward, resting his elbow on the tea 
table. 

How exquisite she was ! 

Even at that distance he could follow the play 
of her beautiful lips. Full — passionate — the lips 
of a lovely child. 

Very daintily she was pouring out tea for her 
companion, talking gaily all the time. The Rus- 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 21 


sian’s tired eyes were devouring her beauty. He 
was sitting very close to her, and once, in passing 
a plate of sandwiches, his hand touched hers. She 
drew back, laughing. Jack Helstan set his teeth 
in his under lip. For several minutes he kept his 
head bent. The fingers of the hand which rested 
on the arm of his chair opened, then closed, convul- 
sively. He looked violent. 

Some Englishwomen who were sitting at the 
next table glanced at him furtively. One of them 
spoke in a low voice. Her neighbor looked up 
eagerly. 

“ Do you really think so ? Lost everything ? 
But he ordered tea ? Don’t you think he’d have or- 
dered brandy or something of that kind — if ” 

“ Hush — sh — sh!” 

Jack had raised his head. A word or two of 
the conversation had reached him and something 
in the half- frightened face appealed to him. A 
smile stole over his face. 

The Englishwomen were picking up their gloves 
and furs. A moment later one of them spoke 
softly, her eyes carefully turned towards the other 
side of the hall. 

“ I simply don’t believe it. I think it looks most 
awfully nice.” 

Helstan stifled his intrusive smile as he allowed 
his eyes to rest a moment on the little fair creature 


22 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


who had just called him “ it.” He wished that 
it could be possible for him to offer her a big box 
of candies! Just then the matron of the party 
rose and he was obliged to move his chair to allow 
them to pass. The fair girl came last. As she 
went by she bowed very slightly and said, “ Merci.” 
Jack stood up. At that moment Mrs. Belle w saw 
him. Their eyes met. It seemed to him that she 
smiled. 

He sat down and poured out some tea without 
knowing what he was doing. 

* * * * * * 

Mrs. Bellew was in high spirits. She was look- 
ing exquisite and she knew it. If she had had 
any doubt about the becomingness of her Paquin 
gown the glances of the women in her immediate 
vicinity would have convinced her that it was 
“ quite too too.” One of the Eastern servants, 
an ebony creature in gorgeous attire, bowed low 
before her and held out a cluster of roses. She 
smiled deliciously. Every servant in the hotel was 
her willing slave. Prince Paul passed his long 
white fingers over his silky mustache. He handed 
the attendant a gold piece. The man’s eyes flashed. 
He seemed about to refuse. Then he made a 
respectful salutation and slipped the money into 
his vest pocket. Mrs. Bellew laughed mischiev- 
ously. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 23 

“ How exaggeratedly Russian you are! You im- 
agine people are always looking for money. Poor 
old Mahoum — I really thought he was going to 
throw that lords at your feet. He’s such a proud 
old dear. One of my devoted slaves.” 

Ourmansky smiled. 

“ Quel age avez-vous, chere Madame ? Seize 
ans? Dix-sept at most! Of your thousand and 
one attractions your marvelous youth is the most 
potent. When speaking to you one almost imag- 
ines that you must still be a jeune fille!” 

He laid impertinent emphasis on the " almost,” 
and Betty Bellew flushed. It was true that in many 
ways she was amazingly youthful. She still, and 
not infrequently, blushed like a young girl. 

For a second she was silent. Then she held 
the roses against her face and glanced across the 
hall. He was looking at her. She laughed right 
out. 

“ Thank God for my good tea and for my youth ! 
This is a rum old world, but it contains nice things 
for those who know how to appreciate them. It 
must be very convenient to be richer than the Czar, 
but I fancy you must sometimes find it a bother 
to feel Monsieur Sick-to-death-of-every thing always 
tapping you on the shoulder. Still, one can’t have 
everything. When you sign ‘ Paul Ourmansky ’ — 
with all those wonderful flourishes — you make 


24 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

people skip about. You carry with you an atmos- 
phere filled with such phrases as — 4 fabulously 
rich ’ — ‘ terrific gambler ’ — ' intimate friend of the 
Emperor/ and then — just here they speak in 
awed whispers — ‘ the lover, amant, you know, of 
the Grand Duchess So-and-so/ It’s all very won- 
derful, and one feels that the mantle of royalty 
has almost descended on one’s everyday shoulders 
when one finds oneself in your company. By the 
by — you’re very strong at English, much stronger 
than I am, which is natural since I’m three parts 
Irish — how many times may one say 4 one ’ in a 
single sentence ? ” 

He leaned back and looked at her through half- 
closed eyes. 

She was amazingly lovely. And elusive — still. 

He wondered if he had ever before felt so keen 
in pursuit of a woman ? 

Mrs. Bellew did not wait for an answer to her 
question. In fact, she had already forgotten it. 
She was looking at the pretty peevish face of the 
woman who had been her chief bridesmaid. 

“ Have you met Lady Granville ? The English- 
woman in khaki and mauve powder, who is drink- 
ing champagne under that widely spreading palm? 
Poor dear Alice — not a bit changed. She was 
always d pen pres, but never quite — right, I mean. 
She is telling awful stories about me or you or 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 25 

both of us, and those dear respectable souls who 
are having tea with her are trying to remember 
their manners while they listen. One of them, the 
girl in buff with complexion to match and such a 
nice little smile, is getting furrows in her forehead 
from the polite effort she is making to see us with- 
out seeming to look in our direction. Yes — on 
parle has! My poor character! Pulled to pieces 
and flung to the four winds.” 

The Prince slowly put his eyeglass in position and 
surveyed the group. He was impertinence embod- 
ied. Lady Granville hastily raised a cup of tea to 
her lips. Mrs. Bellew laughed softly. 

“ My dear friend, take care what you are doing. 
Tea and champagne make an awful mix and that 
little accident has thrown my nice girl with the 
polite forehead-furrows off her balance. You see 
it was her cup. And she has been brought here 
to-day by Alice Granville, who is rather a personage, 
etc., etc. And besides that, a genuine flush of 
anger utterly destroys the effect of mauve powder. 
‘Catty'? Of course you didn't say it, but you 
thought something of the sort — in Russian or 
French or any other language which may take 
charge of your thoughts. Certainly I am capable 
of being ‘catty' when cats are in the vicinity. 
They're going! And Lady Granville is coughing 
violently, and it’s all your fault. You really must 


26 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


try and overcome that habit of looking at people 
as if they were performing animals and ridiculous 
at that.” 

Ourmansky leaned back in his chair. He was 
amused. 

“ 4 Catty ’ ? What a wonderful language is your 
English. And what was that curious little word 
you taught me yesterday evening? ‘Bounder’! 
Who is that big ‘ bounder ’ who is always staring 
at you and who wants to give me a dagger thrust — 
in the back? ” 

He looked straight at Jack Helstan as he spoke. 
His manner was insolent. Mrs. Bellew’s eyes 
sought the chair in the secluded corner. She smiled 
maliciously. 

“ He’s rather a famous personage, and, if the 
newspapers are to be believed, he does not stab in 
the back when he goes in for stabbing at all ! And 
why ‘ bounder ’ ? It seems to me that he looks nice 
as well as ‘ big.’ ” 

“ You know him?” 

She paused a single second. 

“ Slightly.” 

“ What does that mean? ” 

“ Just slightly.” 

“ Why do you not speak to him at the Casino? ” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Ah — ‘ why ’ ? That’s the question. Didn’t 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 27 

Browning — I’m quite convinced you’re better up in 
him than the brownest of the Browningites — say 
something about ‘ Never the time and the place 
and the loved one all together ’ ? Perhaps the 
Casino isn’t Mr. Helstan’s 4 place ’ ? And here 
comes your Grand Duchess! This begins to be 
amusing.” 

Ourmansky’s face grew very sullen. He was ut- 
terly careless about what his world said of him or 
of his doings, but there were certain social rules 
which had to be recognized. The very great lady 
who was now entering the hall was closely related 
to the Czar. She and he had been “ friends.” 
They had parted, but she was not of those who 
permit any one connected with them to take a lib- 
erty. She was coming up the hall, surrounded by 
friends. In another moment she must pass by the 
table at which he was sitting. People did not hesi- 
tate to say a great many unpleasant things about the 
charming woman who had taken tea with him that 
afternoon. What was he to do? 

Betty Bellew leaned her arm carelessly on the 
table. The Grand Duchess had almost reached that 
particular part of the hall. Her arrogant eyes were 
turned on the flowerlike face. She had not glanced 
at the Prince. 

Suddenly he rose and bowed low. 

The atmosphere of the hall became agitated. 


28 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

All eyes were turned on that prominent tea-table. 
The royal lady’s face flushed, but she held herself 
in control. With haughty grace she extended her 
hand for Ourmansky to kiss. A moment later she 
had passed on. Mrs. Bellew was smiling mischiev- 
ously. 

“ After all,” she said, “ it’s worth while teaching 
you English. You already know how not to be a 
4 bounder.’ ” 

The Prince leaned across the table and touched 
her hand. 

“ You realize how much I — appreciate you? ” 

She nodded. 

“ I realize that you appreciate quite a good deal, 
grapes which are out of your reach. You are 
even wise enough to refrain from declaring them 
‘ sour.’ ” 

His eyes flickered. 

“No! I reach up — and up — when the grapes 
are worth while ! ” 

“ I can see you. I can also, as in a vision, see a big 
gust of wind blowing a particular cluster of grapes 
in another direction — still further out of reach.” 

“ I am very patient — when I feel disposed to be 
patient.” 

“And the reverse? Well, I’ve had a delightful 
afternoon. Shall we go and get a breath of fresh 
air?” 


CHAPTER III 

M RS. BELLE W liked to have her own way. 

When she wanted to have, or do, some- 
thing special, she was capable of being exceedingly 
obstinate. 

On leaving the Hotel de Paris that evening she 
found herself wishing, for reasons which seemed 
to her excellent, to walk on the Casino Terrace 
alone. 

Prince Ourmansky, who was also capable of much 
obstinacy, wanted to accompany her. There was a 
little duel of wills, but Mrs. Bellew triumphed. 

With delicious determination she crushed his half- 
angry arguments. Her smile was adorable when 
she looked up into his face and thrust into his 
hands a bundle of bank-notes, giving minute in- 
structions as to the manner in which he was to 
dispose of them for her on the big table in the 
Salle Empire. She knew he was certain to meet 
a host of acquaintances in the Cercle Prive, and 
she told him to wait there until she came back. 
Ourmansky hesitated. He was a man of violent 
29 


30 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

temper. He was accustomed to doing exactly as 
he pleased. For a moment he felt tempted to rebel. 
Then his thin lips took an ugly downward curve 
and he shrugged his shoulders. Bowing low — so 
low that the salutation seemed almost impertinent — 
he thrust the notes into his breast pocket and turned 
into the Casino. 

Mrs. Bellew smiled mischievously as she walked 
quickly towards the tunnel which lies at the left of 
the big building and which leads to the terrace on 
the other side. 

At that moment she looked absurdly youthful. 

The expression on her face was that of a high- 
spirited child who had found the way to carry out 
some choice, forbidden scheme. 

When she reached the end of the tunnel she 
paused. From under a fringe of dark lashes she 
glanced down the broad, darkening walk. She had 
made up her mind to an audacious move, and 
wished to see if her calculations had been well 
founded. 

Yes. He was there! 

Her glance had flown so swiftly that no one could 
have realized its flight. Quite carelessly she ad- 
vanced to the stone balustrade and leaned over, her 
eyes resting on the little crowd underneath, at the 
entrance to the railway station. 

Jack Helstan was walking up the terrace. It was 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 31 

a glorious evening. He had taken off his hat, and 
was holding it in the hands which were clasped be- 
hind his back. 

The moment Mrs. Belle w emerged from the tun- 
nel under the Casino he saw her. In the same in- 
stant he found himself beset by that strong excite- 
ment which her presence always awoke. He stood 
still abruptly. Then he continued his walk. Only 
a few seconds elapsed before he came close to where 
she was standing. 

Twilight was falling. The terrace was almost de- 
serted. They were alone. 

He was about to pass her when she spoke. 

“ Mr. Helstan ! ” 

He started. Betty laughed softly. 

“ You are tremendously surprised, and, of course, 
this is all wrong and very incorrect and vividly 
outrageous. We can consider that said and fully 
realized, and now I want you to tell me why you 
deliberately willed me to win on 17 this after- 
noon? Are you a hypnotist, or a clairvoyant, or 
what ? ” 

Helstan was so amazed that speech was impos- 
sible. Face to face with the woman whom he so 
vehemently admired, he was tongue-tied. Her 
eyes were full of mischief. They searched his face. 
They were the eyes of a beautiful woman, but their 
expression was that of an audacious, confiding child. 


32 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ Of course, you are horrified, but all sorts of 
unexpected things happen at Monte Carlo. It’s 
unlike any other place in the world. Something in 
the atmosphere makes us forget the things we have 
been carefully taught in schools- for-good-manners. 
Here we’re just children of that hypercritical old 
fraud Nature. What we want to do we do. And 
I particularly wanted to ask you why you sent that 
tremendous blast of will-power across the table this 
afternoon? It was amazing. I don’t believe you 
spoke, but I seemed to hear you saying : ‘ 17 — stake 
on 1 7/ ” 

Helstan found his tongue. 

“ I’m afraid I took a great liberty, but I couldn’t 
get away from the feeling that you could win on 
17. The number seemed to float about over your 
head.” 

Betty stared. 

“ I knew it ; I knew you were my mascot. Ever 
since you came here I’ve had a run of luck. It’s 
wonderful — delightful! You aren’t thinking of 
going away — are you? I mean leaving Monte 
Carlo ? ” 

She was looking up into his face — smiling, but 
anxious. Jack held his breath for a moment. 

“ No, certainly not,” he said quickly. “ I love 
the place. I wouldn’t leave it for anything ” 

She laughed softly. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 33 

“ That’s all right. Now I can make my fortune 
quietly.” She came a step nearer. “ It interests 
you — the Casino ? ” she asked. “ Are you study- 
ing it for literary purposes, or do you mean to 
play?” 

“ You know who I am — that I write, I mean? ” 

The soft laughter broke bounds. 

“ Rather ! I know a great deal about you — 
heaps — simply heaps.” 

“ You know something about me — impossible.” 

“ ‘ Something ’ ? I know nearly everything. I 
know, for example, that your lovely old father is 
a clergyman — a very famous preacher and an 
equally famous writer of essays, etc. I know 
that he has managed to injure his throat, that he 
is here for fresh air and sunshine, and that he 
is taking notes for a book in which he means to 
denounce the Casino and all its works! I also 
know that you are tremendously famous — Eng- 
land’s * coming man ’ ! And I know that your last 
novel — at least I think it was the last — gave the 
reviewers an indigestion and made the dear souls 
who do five teas a day blush just a weeny bit. Not 
that it was ‘ really suggestive, you know ’ ” — her 
cheeky air was irresistible — “ but it was ‘ certainly 
unusual.’ ” 

Jack stared. 

“But I don’t understand. How in the world 


34 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

did you learn all this? How does it happen that 
you take the slightest interest in me — or my fa- 
ther?” 

“ ‘ Learn ’ ? Oh — la la ! Every official in the 
Casino has your dossier by heart. You and your 
father are famous personages, Mr. Helstan — very 
dear to the hearts of newspaper reporters. And 
besides, it’s obvious that you don’t come to the 
Casino to gamble, and so it follows that the people 
there have asked, ‘ Why ? ’ People, especially 
famous personages, who come to Monte Carlo 
must expect to be discussed — and watched. There 
are lots of things you may do here — if you are 
discreet. You may lose or win a fortune — blow 
out your brains — make love to your neighbor’s 
wife — drink too much champagne, etc., etc. But 
you must not be mysterious if you happen to be 
clever and famous, and you must not go about 
asking questions and taking notes. The Casino is 
strong enough to dictate terms to the whole of the 
Riviera and three parts of Europe, but it does not 
care to be held up to scorn by persons who can com- 
mand a good deal of attention. At the moment we 
of Monte Carlo are inclined to believe that you and 
your father may be charming persons, but think 
twice before you make us suspicious! ” 

“ This is the most extraordinary thing I have ever 
heard. I cannot understand it. And you — how 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 3 

could you have heard anything about us ? I had no 
idea you even knew of our existence. ,, 

She looked at him with wide-open, audacious 
eyes. 

“ For the son of a clergyman — and a Doctor of 
Divinity at that — you seem strangely lacking in 
Bible knowledge. Have you never heard of the 
brimstone lake which is prepared for persons who 
play pranks with truth? But I absolve you! It’s 
quite right that you should seem to believe your- 
self an ordinary individual who can pass along un- 
noticed — even in the Casino. As to my personal 
knowledge of your family affairs, that’s easily ex- 
plained. I heard all about you from my favorite 
croupier.” 

“A croupier? You speak to them?” 

She nodded. 

“ Rather ! Poor dears — they’re tremendously 
human in their own inhuman way. And needlessly 
respectable. Quite the most respectable and hard- 
working people in Monte Carlo. But they like to 
gossip, and nearly all of them live in the Conda- 
mine. They pass your hotel in droves many times 
every day.” 

“You know where I am staying?” 

“Of course.” 

“It’s absolutely extraordinary.” 

“ Not at all. It’s Monte Carlo.” 


j THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


“ What can it matter to — any one? ” 

“ What you and your father think and write ? 
It matters quite a lot, because you both happen to 
be persons who have managed to get hold of the 
Public Ear. The Casino doesn’t mind parrot talk, 
but when it comes to an attack from a desperately 

serious personage like your father ” 

She laughed and looked at him with mischievous 
eyes. 

Helstan could not speak. He had a strange feel- 
ing that he was alone in an enchanted world with 
this woman whom he so passionately admired. A 
great silence seemed to compass land and sea. She 
was looking up at him, and at that moment he real- 
ized the compelling charm of her eyes. 

They were golden-brown and soft as velvet, with 
fringes of dark lashes which made shadows, like 
faint stains, on her cheeks. And her skin. De- 
licious! Soft as the skin of a young child and 
wonderfully fair. She looked so young — so con- 
fiding. It seemed to him that he was looking at 
the sweet face of a friendly child. 

The unrestrained admiration which shone in his 
eyes called up a wild-rose flush. She smiled. 
Two adorable dimples leaped into prominence. 
He caught his breath; her smile deepened. The 
softly crimson lips parted. She looked exquisite — 
one of those rare women who always seem virginal 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 37 

— who retain in some mysterious way the charm 
of inconsequent youth long after youth, counted by 
actual years, has fled. The elusive “ bloom ” of 
which poets rave clung about her. She was gamine 
and femme du monde at one and the same time. A 
delicious bit of femininity who wore her white 
Paquin gown with the careless grace of one who had 
always been able to spend money freely. 

Jack Helstan was profoundly excited. 
****** 

They were alone on the terrace. All round and 
above them were the gorgeous foliage plants and 
luxuriant trees which make the sea front of Monte 
Carlo seem like the entrance to some earthly para- 
dise. Myriads of lights twinkled softly in the dis- 
tance, through the drooping leaves of giant palms. 
Faint music came from the brilliant Place, where 
hundreds of cosmopolitans were lingering for a 
short minute before pushing their way back to the 
Tables. 

They were alone. 

Unconsciously Jack drew nearer to the white- 
gowned figure. Betty leaned back against the stone 
balustrade and looked up into his face. 

“I wonder why you wrote A Woman of To- 
morrow ? 99 

He stared at her. For a moment he found it im- 
possible to answer. She laughed very softly. 


38 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ Is it a secret ? ” 

Suddenly he came to his senses. 

“Of course not. It’s very kind of you to take 
an interest in the book, but — have you read it?” 

She nodded. 

“ Yes. And I have also read Why Not ? I like 
it immensely — Why Not? I mean.” 

“ You like it — that little book of essays by my 
father ? ” 

“ Why not? ” 

She was laughing mischievously. Jack felt 
baffled. He remained silent. After a moment 
Mrs. Bellew went on — 

“ I suppose you think that your book would have 
made a straight appeal to my heart and that your 
father’s essays would have floated right over my 
head, but — I’ve my serious moments ! And besides 
— I was brought up on Why Not? food.” 

“ Yes?” 

Mrs. Bellew looked impatient. 

“You’re surprised? You’re convinced that your 
Woman of To-morrow is more in my line? Well, 
that’s not surprising, after all. It’s a tremen- 
dously clever novel. I wonder why you wrote 
it? ” 

“ I had to write it.” 

She looked at him. 

“ I wonder ” She stopped short. It struck 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 39 

her that she must seem unpleasantly inquisitive. 
Jack came a step nearer. 

“ There were circumstances connected with the 
story which made a strong appeal to me. I felt 
that I must speak right out. Besides, I believe 
that in certain cases a woman has the right to 
take her life into her own hands, no matter what 
the world may say.” 

She looked at him sharply. Then she said gaily — 

“ The people at the English Library up there 
on the Boulevard du Nord are booming your 
book in splendid style! The day I bought it one 
of them gave me a graphic description of your 
personal appearance and your monarch-of-all-I- 
survey manner of walking. She finished up by 
assuring me that you were a ‘ joli g argon' but the 
second young lady waxed indignant at that and 
said you were ' tres distingue ’ and ‘ veeeery ’and- 
some/ ” 

He joined in the laugh. They seemed suddenly 
to have become good friends. 

“ And what did they say about my father? For 
I take it that you purchased Why Not t at the same 
shop ? ” 

“ Oh, no.” She stopped short. The change in 
her manner, even in her voice, was so marked that 
Helstan feared he had, in some way, given offense. 
He felt uncomfortable. For a moment neither 


4 o THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

spoke. Then Mrs. Bellew went on : “I have had 
your father’s little book for some time. Nearly two 
years. I bought it in Seville.” 

“ In Seville?” 

His amazement betrayed itself. She bent her 
head in assent. 

“ Yes. I was looking for an English book in 
an old shop and I chanced on it. The cover was 
torn, but I managed to patch it up and make it look 
respectable. I have had it with me ever since.” 

“ I wonder ? ” 

Jack spoke impulsively, but the broken sentence 
was never finished. Mrs. Bellew was looking 
straight at him. 

“Of course you ‘wonder,’ but — ‘why not?’ 
There are lots of things that we cannot understand 
— that we cannot follow out to the end — however 
much we may try. Your father has made some of 
these things seem easy — bearable.” 

He was completely puzzled. 

Was she laughing at him? At the dear old man 
whose impossible views had so often formed a bar- 
rier which his eager aspirations found wearisome? 
What did she mean? 

He was silent. 

Mrs. Bellew threw one end of her ermine scarf 
over her shoulder and looked down the deserted 
terrace. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 41 

“ I must say good-evening. I want to go back 
to the Casino for half-an-hour before dinner.” 

She bowed, then, with a frank gesture, held out 
her hand. Helstan took it softly. 

“ May I walk with you to the door ? ” 

“‘Why not?’” 

The reiteration of the little phrase irritated 
him. She was welcome to jest with him as much 
as she liked, but — the old man ? 

He was impulsive as well as impetuous. Words 
which almost contained a rebuke rushed out. 

“ It was my mother who brought th^t little es- 
say into existence. When she passed away my 
father was left alone — I was only a baby. He 
felt he must see her again. He asked himself, 
* Why not ? ’ Afterwards he came to see that his 
hope might help some one who also knew what it 
was to be lonely, and so he had the essay printed 
with the others.” 

“ Yes.” 

From the single word it was impossible to tell 
what she was thinking, but Jack, somehow, realized 
that he had made a mistake. She had not been 
laughing at the book — or at its author. He was 
furious with himself. 

She had been so sweet. So divinely, unex- 
pectedly friendly. And he had, more than likely, 
offended her. Unconsciously he quickened his 


42 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

steps. Betty laid a hand on his arm. She breathed 
heavily, with obvious intention. 

“ Are you training for a race ? Or are you so 
desperately hungry that you feel you must run all 
the way back to your hotel ? ” 

He pulled up. 

“ Please forgive me. I’m a rough boor. Not fit 
for polite society ! ” 

He was laughing, but there was an appeal in his 
dark eyes. Betty nodded. 

“ I forgive you, and I really don’t think you’d 
have a chance in a company of boors. You’d pre- 
sent the appearance of a raw amateur. Well, here 
we are at the dear wicked old Casino. Thank you 
— for understanding.” 

They were standing face to face under a big 
lamp. She was looking up. Her golden eyes were 
full of mischief. A delicious perfume of white 
roses and wood violets clung about her clothes — 
her whole person. 

Helstan’s eyes devoured her. She was enchant- 
ing. 

A little hand gloved in pale suede stole out. 

“Shall we shake hands again — just before we 
say good-by ? ” 

“‘Good-by’? You can’t mean that? You 
mustn’t mean it ! ” 

She laughed. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 43 

“You prefer au revoir?” She stopped short; 
her face changed curiously. “ You know all about 
me, of course? Who I am — and all that?” 

“ I know that you are Mrs. Bellew.” 

" The Mrs. Lancelot Bellew?” 

He smiled. 

“ I can understand that you are very much ‘ the 
— the beautiful Mrs. Bellew/ for example!” 

She looked at him sharply. Then she laughed. 

“ You’re clever. Well, so be it. We aren’t 
strangers any more.” 

His grasp on her hand tightened. 

“ How sweet and lovely you are — how can I 
thank you enough? And — it’s all settled — isn’t 
it? I may come right up and speak to you when 
we meet — anywhere — everywhere ? ” 

Again she scanned his face. There was silence. 
Then her soft mouth curved into a delicious smile. 

“ So be it,” she repeated. “ If you won’t take 
a warning — well, let us be friends.” The pas- 
sionate admiration in his eyes took possession of 
her. Her fingers moved softly in the strong hand 
which had taken them prisoners. “ It isn’t a bit 
wise — but does that matter ? ” 

He was silent. 

She understood. 

A moment longer their eyes exchanged con- 
fidences — then she abruptly drew her hand away 


44 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

and walked quickly up the steps of the Casino. 
Helstan followed. Together they crossed the outer 
hall, but when they reached the doors leading to 
the gambling saloons she made a gesture of dis- 
missal. 

“You really mean it?” he said. “I must not 
come any further?” 

“ I really mean it. Thanks very much. It was 
delicious — the terrace, I mean.” 

Without looking at him again she passed in. 
For several minutes he stood quite still where she 
had left him. 

Then he turned away and walked out through the 
great entrance doors. 


CHAPTER IV 


R UMPELMAYER’S tea-room was packed with 
English people. The weather in London and 
in Paris had been atrocious. Frost and snow 
followed by dreary torrents of rain had filled the 
“ going south ” trains. 

January is an ideal month on the Riviera. 

Tout le monde had fled in the direction of certain 
sunshine. 

****** 

Two tea-tables had been drawn together in one 
of the windows. The people who surrounded 
them were evidently of the same party. They 
were English with a single exception. The tall, 
very perfectly dressed woman, with obviously 
powdered hair and observant gray eyes, was an 
American. She was leaning back in her chair, 
looking at a pretty woman who was speaking 
eagerly. 

“ I think it’s fearful rot. Of course we can’t 
know her now, but what’s the use of pretending 
that she has 4 gone off.’ She hasn’t ! Any one 
45 


46 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

with half an eye could see that she has the ball at 
her feet waiting to be kicked.” 

“The Russian ball, I suppose you mean?” 
Mrs. Lulu Childers shrugged her shoulders. 

“What’s the use of being catty, Alice? Femi- 
nine mud, however well aimed, won’t make her need 
henna or peroxide for some time to come.” 

“ Bravo ! Bravo ! ” 

Sir Henry Chaplin clapped his hand softly, 
wrinkling up his weather-beaten face until he looked 
rather like an amiable Chinese god. He was a well- 
preserved man of seventy who daily, and lustily, 
thanked Heaven that he could still cast a salmon fly 
and hold his own in the hunting-field. 

Mrs. John P. Wainright — the woman with the 
powdered hair — laid her hand on Mrs. Childers’ 
shoulder. The buff silk blinds were pulled down 
half way, but a flash of sunlight rested on the facets 
of some superb diamonds which circled her fingers. 
Lady Granville’s eyes looked greedy as they rested 
on the great white stones. 

“ My dear — will you take pity on my ignorance 
and tell me something about this wonderful person 
who seems to have upset the digestion of our be- 
loved Monte Carlo? I should have imagined that 
this particular corner of Europe had had time to 
get accustomed to attractive ladies of the — half- 
world?” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 47 

“ Oh — but she’s not that. One can’t know her 
now, at least so people say, but certainly she’s not 
a demi-mondaine.” 

“ Not a demi-mondaine — Betty Bellew ? Well, 
if she isn’t that, might I ask how you’d describe 
her?” 

Lady Granville spoke with vicious emphasis. A 
sly smile stole across Colonel Manners’ face. She 
saw it. 

“What are you smiling at, Ralph? You know 
all about the wretched creature, don’t you?” 

Before he could reply Mrs. Wainright broke in, 
graciously but with determination. 

“ But, then, dear Lady Granville, it was I who 
asked for information. This beautiful but dreadful 
personage has attracted my attention at the Casino 
and at my hotel, where she is staying. I do not 
often feel curious about strangers, but I confess that 
I should like to hear something of her history.” 

“ But surely you remember the case ? It filled the 
newspapers four years ago? The Lancelot Bellew 
divorce ? ” 

Mrs. Wainright shook her head. 

“ So many people get divorced. And four years? 
A lifetime in our mad old world.” 

“ She has been in the newspapers often enough 
since then. The divorce was only the beginning of 
her public career.” 


48 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ Now, Alice — shut up ! You can’t be trusted to 
talk about Betty Bellew. If Mrs. Wainright wants 
to hear the story, I’ll tell it. It’s no good making 
things worse than they are.” 

“ That is right, my dear. You shall be the one 
to enlighten my ignorance. Perhaps Lady Gran- 
ville has some special reason for disliking Mrs. 
Bellew?” 

“ The best of reasons. They were once chums.” 
Mrs. Childers looked indignant. Her pretty face 
was flushed. With a petulant movement she pulled 
up a wonderful leopard-skin scarf which had slipped 
from her shoulders. Mrs. Wainright looked at her 
admiringly. 

“ I rather like those flashing eyes ! It’s not a 
bad idea to help a lame dog over a stile, but I sup- 
pose you will all tell me that the lady in question 
is very well able to take care of herself? ” 

Colonel Manners laughed. Sir Henry Chaplin 
looked at him sharply, then deliberately turned his 
back. Dolly Childers spoke. 

“ It really was rather a desperate affair. Yon 
see, Lance Bellew was awfully good-looking 
but impossible. He did every mortal thing a 
husband shouldn’t have done, and Betty was the 
loveliest thing you ever saw and just a kid — only 
seventeen — when she was married. She and I 
went to school together in Paris and she was too 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 49 

sweet and pretty for anything. All the men made 
straight for her, and of course when Lance Bellew 
went wrong — quite openly, you know — she played 
about with other people. And at first there was 
nothing serious, but when Gerald Mansergh came 
along there were sparks flying round. He was 
in the Life Guards and all the women were simply 
mad about him.” For a single second she stopped 
and shot a glance in Lady Granville’s direction. 
That lady was looking down, but there was a 
vicious crimson spot on each of her thin cheeks. 
Mrs. Childers smiled. “ He was a regular masher,” 
she went on, “ the women went down like nine- 
pins when he looked at them, but he fell regularly 
in love with Betty and she with him. They had 
a lovely time until some one put Lance on the 
scent and made him kick. He hadn’t the least bit 
of right really to say anything, considering how 
he’d been carrying on, but men’s men ! He elected 
to play the role of injured husband and made a 
frightful scene. Gerry Mansergh told him a few 
home truths and then Lance shot him — dead. 
They called it an accident, and of course the next 
thing was a divorce. Betty was like a mad thing. 
She wouldn’t say a word in her own defense — 
in fact, for ever so long she shut herself up and 
wouldn’t see any one, not even her most intimate 
friends. And old Miss Bellew, Lance’s aunt, who 


50 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

adored him, went round saying frightful things, 
and when the divorce came on every one was on 
his side. When it was all over Lance went on a 
terrific spree and was found dead in an unmention- 
able place a couple of months later — heart failure 
or something of that sort, and meantime Betty 
had bolted with Hugo Acland, who had always 
been one of her fervent adorers. For ever so long 
before she ran off she had been fighting to get 
hold of the child, a small boy with a face like an 
angel, but Miss Bellew wouldn’t give him up — 
wouldn’t even let her see him, and so — she threw 
up the sponge.” 

“ I see.” Mrs. Wainright was looking at the ex- 
cited speaker in a very friendly way. “ I see. Not 
an unusual story, but she appears to be an unusually 
interesting woman. And the little child ? She 
loved him very much, you say ? It must have been 
hard for her to give him up ? ” 

“ Some people have a queer way of showing their 
Hove.’ If Betty Bellew hadn’t been such a selfish 
beast the boy would have been alive and well now — 
she practically murdered him.” 

“ Alice ! How can you be so brutal ? ” Mrs. 
Childers was vehemently indignant. 

“ Well — isn’t it true ? Didn’t she steal the child 
from the governess who had charge of him at 
Biarritz? Didn’t she carry him off to some place 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 51 

in the south of Spain? Didn’t he die there of a 
neglected cold ? ” 

“ I didn’t know. That horrid old Miss Bellew 
said all those things; but she always loathed Betty. 
I believe it was that old cat who made all the mis- 
chief about Gerald Mansergh.” 

Lady Granville laughed insolently. 

“ Are we to understand that you approved of Mrs. 
Bellew’s ‘ affair ’ with Captain Mansergh ? ” 

“Balderdash! We all ‘ approved ’ until she got 
caught out. Half the women in town would have 
given ten years of their lives to have been in Betty’s 
place then — and you know it. Besides, if she had 
had twenty ‘ affairs ’ she wouldn’t have been even 
with Lance Bellew.” 

“ My dear ! ” Mrs. Wainright was smiling. 
She tapped Mrs. Childers’ hand with her fan. 
The action seemed to indicate admiration, almost 
affection. “ My dear — are you going to advocate 
equal rights in wrong doing ? Sauce for the gander 
is sauce for the goose theory — eh ? ” 

“ And why not ? ” Dolly Childers flared up and 
looked very determined. Then she too smiled. “ I 
suppose it couldn’t work, but it does seem so hor- 
ribly unfair. Betty was such a decent little soul 
— all heart and a perfect idiot so far as good na- 
ture and generosity goes. I met her in Paris three 
years ago, just after she came back from Cairo. 


52 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

I spoke to her and she tried to shake me off, but 
I insisted on having it out and we had tea to- 
gether. She was awfully reserved — she’d always 
been like that — but I could see that she was cut 
up. She said she had dropped out and that no 
one could do anything for her — and that she 
didn’t want any one — the old set, she meant — 
to come near her. She said she was just going to 
live her own life and that the kindest thing I could 
do was to let her alone. I said a lot of idiotic 
things that didn’t really mean anything, for of 
course she was right — she had dropped out, and 
there wasn’t the ghost of a chance of her dropping 
in again. And she knew it! We parted good 
friends, but since then she has always cut me and 
I’ve been mean enough to leave it at that. Oh — 
we’re a poor lot — we women. Almost any man 
will stand by a pal, but a woman ? ” 

Mrs. Wainright shook her head. 

" I’m afraid that is very true.” Lady Granville 
rose suddenly. 

“ Et bien — que voulez-vous? One can’t exactly 
recognize a woman of that type? One must draw 
the line somewhere! And it’s no use trying to 
whiten Betty Bellew’s character, for it wasn’t only 
Captain Mansergh and Hugo Acland! There have 
been others, my dear woman ! ” 

“ I don’t believe it! And even if it were true — 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 53 

why not? If / were in Betty's place there’d be 
lots of 4 others,' I can tell you. If our hypocritical 
old monde turned its back on me I’d make snooks 
at it, believe me. I don’t say she hasn’t been 
stupid or that she hasn’t made a most awful mess 
of things, but she never had a grain of worldly wis- 
dom in her composition. She was always just a 
foolish, lovable child.” 

44 4 Child ’ ? ” Lady Granville laughed aloud. 
44 She’s wonderfully well-preserved considering the 
life she leads, but one is hardly a 4 child ’ at thirty- 
two ! And she must be that — at least.” 

Mrs. Childers smiled maliciously. 

44 Think so? Well — considering it was an open 
secret that the chief bridesmaid was exactly ten 
years older than the bride was on a certain June 
morning when Lance Bellew came into possession ? ” 

The crimson spots on Lady Granville’s face deep- 
ened. She looked furious. Mrs. Childers threw 
back her head. 

44 Pax! ” she said gaily. 44 You deserved a little 
rap for being insistently catty. Every one who is 
any one knows that Betty Bellew was twenty-eight 
on the first day of this year — and she doesn’t 
look that. She’s impossible, I grant that, but she’s a 
darling.” 

Lady Granville turned her back on the speaker 
and held out her hand to Mrs. Wainright. 


54 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ So sorry we must go, but I do hope we shall 
meet again — very soon. I wonder if you would 
waive ceremony and dine with me to-night, at the 
Metropole ? My husband is motoring over from 
Cannes this afternoon, and I should so like him to 
have an opportunity of meeting you/’ 

Mrs. Wainright made a gesture of polite regret. 

“ You are most kind, but it is impossible. I am 
engaged this evening.” 

“ Oh, well — another time, please. And if my 
car would be of any use to you it is entirely at your 
disposal.” 

“ Thank you, no. I am not fond of motoring. 
I have brought my carriages and horses here. I 
enjoy jogging along quietly in the old-fashioned 
way.” 

All the men had risen. Mrs. Childers came to 
the handsome American woman’s side. She spoke 
very softly. 

“ I hope I haven’t bored you ? But I do so hate 
to hear them cutting at poor Betty. She has made 
herself quite impossible — that’s true, but I don’t 
believe she’s a bit happy. She was devoted to the 
child — I see a great change in her since his death. 
I wish one could do something, but it seems useless 
to try.” 

Their hands clasped. Mrs. Wainright’s fine gray 
eyes glowed. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 55 

A moment later she found herself alone with her 
old friend Sir Henry Chaplin. 

Neither spoke just at first. Mrs. Wainright was 
examining the gay groups at the various tables 
through a pair of long-handled glasses. She was 
a majestic-looking woman. The famous Worth 
had once said of her that she understood the art 
of dress better than any other woman in the States. 
Certainly her appearance was regal. The costly 
simplicity of her black velvet gown and sable 
stole gave evidence for wealth wedded to fine 
taste. 

Sir Henry passed his handkerchief across his 
forehead. 

“Very warm weather for January, isn't it? 
What a brick that young woman is! One of the 
best and pretty as a peach. Ten times too good 
for Lewis Childers." 

“ Charming, and really beautiful. I mean to 
see a good deal of her while I am here. It is not 
often that one meets a woman who dares to speak 
so generously of one of our sex who has made mis- 
takes." 

“ I believe you. A wretched affair from start to 
finish. Bellew was a regular bad hat, and the poor 
little girl's head was turned by admiration — and, 
by Jove, I’m not surprised. All the men went stark 
staring mad about her, and Bellew played right into 


56 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

their hands. He was a ‘ Gaiety- Johnnie * of the 
most unblushing order.” 

“ But what were her people doing? Why didn’t 
they look after her? ” 

The old man stuck out his lip contemptuously. 

“ Her mother died when she was a little girl and 
old Beresford kicked the bucket just after the 

divorce. As for the rest of the family ? ” 

He shook his head. “ A lot of goody-goody 
women who talked ‘ Christian Charity 9 without 
knowing the first thing about it. She had no very 
near relations, I fancy. A parcel of sanctimonious 
cousins who hated her because she was such a 
little beauty. James Beresford the father was 
a fine old chap. Proud as Lucifer and, as long as 
I remember him, stony broke. One of the oldest 
families in Ireland, the Beresfords, but they let 
their property go to pot, and at the last their place, 
Castle Martin, was a regular ruin. When Betty 
Beresford was married, I don’t suppose the old 
man had a five-pound note to give her for pocket- 
money.” 

“ And the man, Mr. Bellew — was he rich? ” 

“ So, so. He must have had a good income, but 
he had a weakness for young ladies in the front 
row of the ballet! A bad business from first to 
last, and the poor little woman was headstrong as 
a mule. When they refused to let her have the 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 57 

child she threw up the sponge and bolted with 
Hugo Acland — a bounder who had been fired out 
of the Rag for sharp practise at cards. That was 
another of her big mistakes. Lady Acland went 
for a divorce, of course, and then there was no 
marriage. One or two people said that Betty had 
found out what a bounder he was and had left 
him before the divorce was made absolute ; but any- 
how, Acland came back to England alone , and only 
the other day I heard that he is engaged to be 
married to one of your countrywomen who has a 
heap of money! Such is life, my dear lady. No 
chance of the 'sauce for the gander sauce for the 
goose' theory coming into practise this side of the 
grave.” 

Mrs. Wainright looked disdainful. 

“ So that’s the man Barbara Webster is going 
to marry ? ” She shrugged her shoulders slightly. 
“ Well — I suppose it is true that some of our 
women love a title!” She paused, then she went 
on. “ It seems a terrible pity about this Mrs. Bel- 
lew. She is so beautiful and her manner is so 
charming. She is staying at my hotel, and I often 
watch her in the dining-room. She has a great deal 
of quiet dignity and yet she seems full of fun.” 

“ Genuine Irish — Betty Bellew. The true blend. 
I should never be surprised if I heard she had gone 
into a convent,” 


58 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

Mrs. Wainright laughed softly. 

“ Not just yet, I fancy. And perhaps she will 
marry again. I think you men are rather fond of 
marrying pretty women who have — been a little 
foolish? ” 

“ Oh, as for that — not a ghost of a chance. 
Betty Bellew has been more than a little foolish, 
and she wasn’t the least bit clever. Now, if it 

had been our mutual friend, Lady Granville ” 

He glanced up mischievously, then pulled a long 
face. “ Well — well — of course one mustn’t talk 
scandal. Granville’s satisfied, and why should we 
— /, I mean — want to go one better than a satis- 
fied husband ! As for poor foolish Betty — there’ll 
be no question of marriage, I’m afraid, but I wish 
she had the luck to pick up some really decent fellow 
who’d be good to her.” 

“ What about this Russian prince who seems so 
devoted? I have seen them together, and his man- 
ner is exceedingly respectful.” 

“ Ourmansky ? ” Sir Henry made a grimace. 
“ A modern Croesus with a black record. Yes — 
he’s always in attendance, and I expect he means 
business, but he couldn’t marry her if he would 
and certainly he wouldn’t if he could! There’s a 
Princess Ourmansky on the scene, saw her the 
other day at Nice, and the chap’s in tremendous 
favor with the Grand Duchess Ivan — or was. I 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 59 

for one would be awfully sorry if Betty Belle w 
swallowed that bait, and yet I suppose it’s tempting 
enough. ,, 

“ You knew Mrs. Bellew’s father? ” 

The words were simple, but something in the tone 
brought a look of annoyance to the wrinkled face of 
the old man. 

“ I understand. You think I — a good many of 
us, if it comes to that — have taken a leaf from 
the Pharisee’s book ? Looks like that, but as a mat- 
ter of fact I did try to keep in touch with her. I 
liked old Beresford and I liked the little woman 
herself, and after the child’s death I heard she was 
in Paris and I went over to see her. She was 
staying at a queer little pension out at the £toile 
quarter, with some woman who had been a governess 
or companion in the Beresford family, and she 
didn’t want to see me. However, I stuck to it, 
and at last she came down and we had a sort of 
one-sided chat. I said what I could, but between 
ourselves it was a confoundedly tricky situation. 
She just sat and looked at me, and when I’d fin- 
ished she said, ‘ You think I ought to take in plain 
sewing? But even a plain-sewer must have a 
character.’ Of course I hadn’t said a word about 
‘plain sewing,’ but she’s sharp enough: she knew 
I meant something of that sort. And then she 
just said, ‘ You mean to be kind and I’m not un- 


60 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

grateful, but the only real kindness any one can 
do now is to realize that I have dropped out and 
that I mean to stay out/ And what could one 
say after that? Just before I left I did mumble 
something about looking after the child’s grave — 
keeping the flowers watered and all that — and her 
eyes filled up. She wouldn’t shake hands, though, 
and when I met her in the rue de Rivoli the next 
day she cut me dead.” 

Mrs. Wainright looked at him. 

“ I am glad you did what you could. It seems 
a shame, but I suppose it’s inevitable. Very 
often it happens that the best women go under 
while ” 

The two old friends exchanged a meaning glance. 
There were a good many Alice Granvilles in their 
world ! 

“ It’s getting late.” Mrs. Wainright made a 
movement in the direction of her fur wrap. Sir 
Henry stood up and arranged it with gallant care. 
As they walked down the quiet street together she 
said — 

“If you are free this evening, will you dine with 
me — at half-past eight? I want you to meet a 
delightful compatriot of mine, Senator Willard. 
He is staying at the Hotel Bristol and he has prom- 
ised to spend the evening with me.” 

“ Delighted ! ‘ Willard ’- — seems to me I know 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 61 


the name? Is he a big man with a small wife and 
two handsome daughters?” 

She shook her head. 

“ My Willard is not married. He is rather a 
famous personage. Very intelligent and the 
author of some remarkable books on American pol- 
itics.” 

“ Sounds interesting. I’m afraid I’ll make a poor 
show, but I’ll do my best to listen intelligently. 
What’s a man of that stamp doing — at Monte 
Carlo?” 

“ Taking a holiday. He had intended going on 
to Italy this week, but he has made friends with 
the Helstans, who are staying at his hotel. He 
says the old man is quite fascinating — and the son 
too.” 

“‘Helstan’? John Helstan the writing man? 
Didn’t know he was here.” 

“Yes. And Dr. Helstan also — the famous 
preacher. Have you heard him ? ” 

Sir Henry made a funny face. 

“Not much in my line, I’m afraid — though I 
do go to Church — sometimes.” 

She smiled indulgently. 

“ He is a wonderful old man. Very simple but 
quite extraordinarily impressive. He is going to 
give a series of lectures in the States — on the 
subject of Christian Socialism, I think. I am anx- 


62 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


ious to make his acquaintance. Senator Willard is 
going to arrange it for me.” 

“Not much difficulty about that, I should im- 
agine.” Sir Henry looked very admiring. “ You 
always had a way of bowling us over like nine- 
pins.” They paused in their walk and admired the 
flowers in the Metropole gardens. Then, as they 
moved on, Sir Henry added : “ Rum book — A 

Woman of To-morrow! Can’t see what that fel- 
low Helstan was driving at. People said it was in- 
tended as a coat of whitewash for that lunatic West- 
land, but I don’t know. Mrs. Field, who ought to 
be Mrs. Westland but isn’t, must have been a hand- 
ful from start to finish. I used to know Field 
rather well. A bit of a bounder, but decent enough 
in some ways and a reasonable being — not a fire- 
brand like Westland. The book is clever, but I don’t 
see what it’s aiming at. If every woman followed 
Mrs. Field’s example there’d be a pretty kettle of 
fish in Society.” 

“ Yes.” Mrs. Wainright smiled. “ Society, with 
a capital S, is a very precious affair. It is our duty 
to protect it.” 

Sir Henry glanced up. 

“ Sarcasm — eh? Well, no doubt it’s justifiable. 
Society, even spelled with a little s, is fairly rotten, 
but still — we can’t do without it. And as long as 
we stand by it we must try and play the game — 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 63 

no two ways about that. I’m all against these writ- 
ing fellows who want to upset the old conditions 
and who can’t suggest anything to take their place 

— anything workable I mean, for there’d be the 
devil to pay if wives in general took Mrs. Field’s 
point of view. I suppose it’ll have to be a case of 
give-and-take to the end of the chapter.” 

“ I’m afraid so.” Mrs. Wainright smiled mean- 
ingly. “ Indeed, I am very sure about that, but then 
— ‘ give-and-take ’ ? Don’t you think that the aver- 
age woman does a good deal of giving and that she 
is obliged to 4 take ’ a good many things that are not 
quite agreeable to her?” Sir Henry squared his 
shoulders. 

“ My dear Mrs. Wainright, a clever woman can 
twist a man — any man — round her finger and he 
won’t have the least notion that he’s being twisted. 
You can catch lots of flies in treacle, you know. 
A soft voice and a coaxing eye can work wonders 

— even in the most obstreperous beast of a man. 
It isn’t the Mrs. Fields of the earth who get the 
sugar plums.” 

“ No.” For a moment Mrs. Wainright looked 
grave. Then she smiled. “ You are a wise man. 
What o’clock is it? Have we time to stroll down 
and see if any one is winning a fortune at the 
Casino ? ” 


CHAPTER V 


44 T AM puzzled. I confess it. I cannot under- 

J. stand how you came to think of my country 
when you made up your mind to undertake this 
stupendous task.” 

It was Senator Willard who spoke. Dr. Helstan 
looked at him. 

“ I don’t admit that it’s ‘ stupendous,’ but your 
question is easily answered. I made up my mind 
to have some talks with your people because I 
felt I needed to turn over fresh ground. All my 
life I’ve been digging and planting and watering 
my little home garden, and it seems to me I haven’t 
done much with it. There are other men, plenty 
of them, who could have done as much as I’ve 
done, and that isn’t as it should be, for I know 
the truth. You see, my dear Senator, it’s like 
this. A good many of us have a notion that 
certain things are true, more or less. A good 
many of us are ready enough to walk hand in 
hand with the Master when we’re in our bed- 
rooms — alone. A good many of us are fine 
64 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 65 

theoretical Christians, but when it comes to every- 
day practise, that’s a horse of another color. I 
myself have been a theoretical Christian for many 
a long day, but I feel that it has only been within 
the last few years that the inner meaning of 
Christ’s message has been fully revealed to me. 
I’ve been amongst those who 4 see through a glass 
darkly,’ but suddenly, not so very long ago, it was 
given to me to see 4 face to face.’ I know now that 
the Master came to show us how this life here on 
earth might be glorious and splendid and successful. 
He came amongst us to show us how to be happy 
and prosperous here as well as to indicate the road 
to heaven.” 

44 My dear sir!” 

Senator Willard gasped. He stared at his com- 
panion. Then he ran his fingers through his thick 
white hair nervously. He was a handsome man, 
with clean-cut features and remarkable green eyes; 
eyes which at that moment looked puzzled. 

The old man smiled. 

44 Well ? ” he said quietly. 

There was silence. Then the American leaned 
forward. 

44 Do you know anything about the conditions in 
my country? The conditions of everyday life, I 
mean ? ” 

44 Not much, but I know that your people are 


66 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


dear human folk who aren’t ashamed to work and 
aren’t ashamed to play. I believe that over there 
in your big country you’re more in touch with naked 
truth than we are here in Europe. Anyhow, I feel 
I must try my hand on a piece of fresh ground. I 
see how a grand crop might be raised — the grand- 
est this world has ever known — and I want to 
have a free hand. I’ve been preaching theoretical 
Christianity, with a decent amount of practise 
thrown in, for nearly forty years to my own peo- 
ple. I haven’t the courage to stand up and tell them 
that I’ve been indulging in a sort of top-dressing, 
and that, so far as I’m concerned, their roots haven’t 
received much attention. I’m a coward, Senator! 
I don’t want to climb down at home until I’ve 
climbed up, visibly, abroad. I want to have a fair 
chance with a fresh audience.” 

The American nodded his head. Dr. Helstan’s 
courage was of the quality which did not call for 
question. 

“ I hope you will not be disappointed.” 

He spoke meaningly. The old man’s face 
beamed. 

“ No fear of that. I’m going to aim high. I’m 
going to try to completely revolutionize one or two 
of your big states, but I shan’t be disappointed 
if I only succeed in making a bunch of men of 
your type put on their thinking caps. You, my dear 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 67 

Senator, with a few of your friends, could do amaz- 
ing things. You could, most probably, make the 
United States the master of the world.” 

Mr. Willard burst out laughing. The old clergy- 
man was not at all disconcerted. 

“You think I’m in my dotage? Not at all. 
What I say is true, literally. If you and a few of 
your influential friends, public men, lived — not 
talked, but lived — the life of Christ every day and 
all day, the * conditions ’ of your country would 
change, and very rapidly ; couldn’t help it, for you’re 
the type of man who can set the fashion. You, 
and men of your type, can decide what a man can 
do or can’t do if he wants to retain his social posi- 
tion and the consideration of his neighbors. You 
have the power to decide the quality of the stand- 
ard. You have the power to force men to keep 
up to that standard or to lose caste. You have the 
power to insist that the essentials of life must rank 
before any other thing.” 

“ 4 Essentials’?” 

“ Right living and growth of soul.” 

“ Yes.” 

Mr. Willard looked down. He was disturbed. 
Under the surface he was irritated. Such imprac- 
ticable ideas as these had haunted his life from time 
to time. He had realized the necessity of thrust- 
ing them aside. 


68 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


Dr. Helstan put two large lumps* of sugar into a 
small cup and stirred it. 

“ Something like molasses or treacle, eh ? I like 
my coffee very sweet! A little time ago I got it 
into my head that sugar irritated my throat, and 
I gave it up, but nothing came of that great sacri- 
fice. ,, 

He sipped the dark liquid with evident relish. 
The green-gray eyes watched him. After a mo- 
ment the old man spoke again. 

“ It’s like this. If you saw a poor fellow suffer- 
ing tortures from some hurt or wound, and you 
had it in your power to cure him, you’d be a mean 
cur if you passed on and left him to suffer just 
because you didn’t want to take the trouble to 
help him — isn’t that so? Well, I’d be just the 
same sort of mean cur if I didn’t try to make 
people see how they can be cured of all their 
sufferings — how all their wrongs can be righted 

— how they can have a grand time here on earth 
before they march out, shoulder to shoulder, in 
the direction of heaven. No end of mischief has 
been done by the belief — and it’s very general 

— that an active Christian can’t have much of a 
success here below. Of course he can. He can 
have a happy home. He can love and be loved. 
He can help and be helped. He can be sur- 
rounded by friends, and he can be surrounded by 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 69 

things that are really beautiful. Why, just think 
of it! Your multi-millionaires make a tremendous 
talk about their marvelous pictures — their por- 
traits by this old master, their landscapes by the 
other one. They give thousands and thousands of 
pounds for these pictures, and yet the man who 
comes to mend your locks, the carpenter who 
comes to make your windows shut easily, might, 
if he liked, enjoy something far finer and more 
precious than these ‘ works of art.’ He might 
enjoy the works of Nature from which the ‘ works 
of art* were copied! Did that ever strike you? 
The Czar of Russia may have in his possession the 
most valuable, from the £.s.d. point of view, land- 
scape in the world. Any working man who has 
eyes in his head can see the original of that land- 
scape, or something very like it. You smile? But, 
believe me, I’m right. All the really great artists 
in the world have said much the same thing. 
They’ve realized that at best they were only copy- 
cats. They’ve never even pretended that they could 
rival Nature. The cleverest of them has never been 
able to give us the texture of a young green bud.” 

“ You are going to try and make my country- 
people see that Nature ranks before imported Art? 
You are going to try to explain your wonderful 
scheme of Christian Socialism to our working 
men?” 


70 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ My dear sir, it isn’t my scheme.” Dr. Hel- 
stan’s eyes twinkled. “ It’s a scheme, and a mighty 
practical one, which was set forth a long while ago 
in the Sermon on the Mount. And why shouldn’t 
your man-in-the-street pay attention? Didn’t the 
Master elect to come upon earth in the guise of a 
poor working man? Didn’t He give the go-by to 
princes and high-priests and millionaires? Surely 
to goodness there’s nothing stupendous about the 
conclusion that He must have had some excellent 
reason for coming to us as a member of the labor- 
ing class? I don’t suppose you imagine that He 
couldn’t have chosen to be born in a palace if He 
had fancied purple and fine linen — eh ? Seems to 
me there’s nothing far-fetched in the notion that 
His message to working men ought to carry weight, 
since it was delivered, in person, by One who knew 
what He was talking about? As to Nature versus 
Art, I don’t suppose I’ll have much time for enlarg- 
ing on that subject — this time. But if all goes 
well — if your people take to me — who knows? 
Maybe I’ll give them a few chats on True yEstheti- 
cism next year ! ” 

They were both smiling. Senator Willard looked 
keenly interested. 

“ If I can help in any way ” he began. The 

old man broke in — 

“Of course you can help — enormously. Just 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 71 

you get it into your head that the battle would be 
won, almost, if we could between us make Jesus 
Christ fashionable in a single state — even one of 
the small ones. If we could make it ‘the correct 
thing ’ to follow in His steps we’d have laid the 
foundation-stone of the finest and most successful 
country in the world — New America ! And I’m 
not just now thinking of the Kingdom of God in 
Heaven — I’m thinking of the Kingdom of God on 
Earth. Do the right because it’s right, and leave 
the consequences to Him — that’s the way to make 
a big success of life.” 

“ It is a beautiful thought.” 

“But you think it isn’t workable?” Dr. Hel- 
stan leaned forward and planted his hands on his 
knees. “Tosh! It’s workable and washable all 
through — the genuine original stuff, I mean. I’m 
not concerned with what men, even the wisest of 
’em, have made of Christ’s teachings. Pm con- 
cerned with the teachings themselves, as He spoke 
them and lived them. No mistake there. No wav- 
ering; no uncertainty. Plain common sense spoken 
by a working man for the benefit of working men. 
He didn’t condemn the pleasant accidents of life — 
money, social position, fame, and so forth. He just 
put these accidents into their right place.” 

There was silence. Then Mr. Willard spoke, 
rather abruptly — 


72 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ Have you ever visited the States, Dr. Helstan ? 
New York, for instance ?” 

“ No. Why? You mean that the conditions 
over there aren’t like the conditions in London or 
in any little country village? Much of a much- 
ness, I imagine. In New York you play about with 
millions of dollars. In our villages the folks play 
about with pennies; but where’s the real differ- 
ence? Do you suppose that Almighty God bothers 
to count the money we’re handling ? ” The beau- 
tiful old face beamed. “ Why, no — of course 
not. What matters to Him is how we’re dealing 
with the money. What we’re feeling about it. 
How we got it and what we mean to do with it. 
His message was intended for the man who has 
to consider farthings as well as for your multi- 
millionaires ; for kings and presidents as well as for 
the man who goes hungry because he hasn’t a penny 
to buy bread. And mark this: it’s the same mes- 
sage for every one. ‘ For all the law is fulfilled in 
one word, even this: thou shalt love thy neighbor 
as thyself.’ ” 

“‘Love’?” 

Dr. Helstan nodded. 

“ It is impossible.” 

“ It happens to be the one thing necessary.” 

“ But we are human beings. We are not God.” 

“We are — because we’re His children and the 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 73 

brothers of Christ. And why is love impossible? 
And if we find it impossible, why do we dare to 
call ourselves Christians? My good sir, haven’t 
you yet realized that if we, even a handful of us, 
managed to live the thirteenth chapter of 1st Co- 
rinthians the burning questions of the day would 
cease to exist? Labor leaders would have to find 
something else to do. Socialist clubs might put up 
their shutters. Our workhouses, aye, and our mad- 
houses too, would be empty.” 

“ It is magnificent.” 

“ But far-fetched? ” 

The Senator smiled. 

“ In a Christian country ? ” 

“ I should not use the words far-fetched, but cer- 
tainly your beautiful ideal does not seem to me to 
be workable.” 

“ Why ? Because you really believe it’s natural 
for the average man to hate instead of love? To 
wound instead of comfort? To say unkind and 
hurtful things instead of things that might be help- 
ful?” 

“ ‘ Natural ’? ” Mr. Willard shrugged his shoul- 
ders. “ It is all very well to talk of love, but when 
it comes to everyday life — in business? Amongst 
strangers ? ” 

Something forceful leaped from Dr. Helstan’s 
eyes. He sat up very straight in his chair. 


74 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ That’s just the point. ‘ Strangers ’ ! But 
there aren’t any strangers! You’ve just driven a 
nail into the heart of the Lost Secret — into the 
spirit of solidarity which is wandering about seek- 
ing for a home. You’re a very intelligent man, 
broad-minded beyond your fellows, fine and clean 
and steadfast in character, and yet even you can’t, 
or won’t, look facts right in the face.” 

‘“Facts’?” 

“Yes — facts. The one great fact from which 
we cannot escape is the Family Fact. We cannot 
live for ourselves alone, no matter how much we 
may want to do it. We cannot get away from 
the fact that we have a universal Father and that 
we form one big family — a great family which 
contains millions of smaller and more intimate, 
but not more real, families. We’re all brothers 
and sisters. Every individual who claims the 
protection of the Christian Flag is a brother of 
Christ. Every man, woman and child in the 
world belongs to the family of God the Father. 
We may kick against the idea, but we can’t get 
away from it. We’re born into a Universal 
Brotherhood. Our brothers and sisters may not 
want to recognize us, but that doesn’t alter the 
truth. We belong to them and they belong to 
us. We can’t get away from them and they can’t 
get away from us. It’s a ‘ fact ’ that hits you in 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 75 

the face as you hustle along through life. Every 
man who counts recognizes it and salutes it, 
sooner or later. Look at St. Francis of Assisi! 
Wasn’t he vehement on that point? And Tolstoy 
and Marcus Aurelius — don’t you remember his 
‘ We are fellow-citizens and share a common 
citizenship: and the world is as it were a city’? 
That dear soul Abdul Baha knows all about this 
‘ fact ’ which you say is unwashable. And the 
truth about Universal Brotherhood was well un- 
derstood in the Church of the Catacombs — way 
back. And just read G. K. Chesterton’s essays 
and see what that queer grand chap has to say. 
My dear sir, the air is filled with the microbes of 
Truth. Sometimes they claw at each other and 
form into a nice little compact body. Sometimes 
they just float about and seem to disappear. But 
they’re there all right! No doubt about that. We 
don’t seem to be doing much on the surface, but deep 
down there’s movement. There are signs of that 
great movement on all sides — in the most unex- 
pected quarters. Men — especially in your country 
— are beginning to wake up.” 

“ ‘ Universal Brotherhood ’ ? ” 

Mr. Willard repeated the words as though they 
fascinated him. The old man smiled at him. 

“ Isn’t it fine ? Doesn’t it open up grand pos- 
sibilities? Good-by forever to loneliness and want 


76 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

and double-dealing. Every man for himself and 
for his brother. If the devil thinks he’s being 
defrauded, let him fatten on the mean thoughts 
and mean actions which we have cast aside. Let 
us take a bath of Love and then walk out 
and ‘ salute interiorly the angels in those we meet.’ 
Just you try the experiment, and before you’ve 
got half-way down the street you’ll find those 
angels rushing out to return your salute! Man 
alive, let’s have done with all this nonsense about 

‘I — I — I ’ It isn’t ‘I’; it’s ‘We.’ The 

sooner we begin to realize that the better for 
us.” 

“ A wonderful dream.” 

“ The Great Reality.” Dr. Helstan stretched out 
his hand, white and wrinkled. “ My dear man, we 
are brothers and sisters. All the serious thinkers 
in the world are at one on that point. They ex- 
press themselves in different ways, but it comes to 
the same thing in the end. Take New Thought, 
for example. What is it — the soul of it, I mean? 
Why, it’s just the crystallized form of ‘ Faith, Hope 
and Charity, and the greatest of these is Charity ’ — 
or Love.” 

Senator Willard stared at the old man. He felt 
fascinated. 

* * * * * * 

All his arrangements had been made for an on- 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 77 

ward movement in the direction of Italy when, ten 
days before, he had made the acquaintance of Dr. 
Helstan and his son. 

From the first they had interested him. 

Very soon he had found himself looking forward 
with keen pleasure to the evening chats with the 
father and the long morning walks with the son. 

He was himself unsettled. A serious illness had 
given him time for rather unwelcome thought. 
It had also given him a good excuse for a holiday 
trip in Europe. He was traveling alone. Until 
he made acquaintance with the Helstans he had 
had little to do with those who surrounded him 
in trains and hotels. But from the first he had 
found something in the old clergyman which 
appealed to him insistently. A dauntless spirit 
seemed to spring forth from Dr. Helstan’s soul, 
and to tangle itself in a mass of secret thoughts 
and aspirations which confused his own brain. 
His natural reserve had unveiled itself, little by 
little. He had unconsciously expanded. There 
had been moments when he had even hinted at 
the ideals which had been with him in early youth : 
ideals which had raised obstacles in the path 
which led to great financial success. When he 
was alone with Dr. Helstan the memory of his 
New-England mother came back to him with 
startling clearness. He seemed to hear again her 


78 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

gentle, curiously determined voice. To listen again 
to her quiet explanation of the Sermon on the 
Mount. 

His mother had, in her own quiet way, realized 
Christianity as Dr. Helstan realized it. 

* * * * * * 

They were sitting in a secluded corner of the 
great hall which was used as a smoking-room and 
general sitting-room by the visitors at the Hotel 
Bristol. 

The furniture was very comfortable. Here and 
there large palms and ornate screens formed a cozy 
oasis in a desert strewn with cane coffee tables 
and attendant chairs. Newspapers and magazines, 
in half-a-dozen different languages, testified to the 
cosmopolitan qualities of the hotel and of Monte 
Carlo. 

It was comparatively early in the evening; not 
yet nine o’clock. A good many of the coffee tables 
were still at liberty. From the brilliantly lighted 
dining-room, away to the left, there came a hum of 
voices and gay laughter. It was the hour of the 
entre-acte . The gamblers had unwillingly torn 
themselves from the tables at eight o’clock. They 
would certainly return to the Casino before 9.30. 
But even they felt the need of an entre-acte in 
which dinner might be consumed and “ runs ” dis- 
cussed. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 79 

Senator Willard leaned back in his chair and 
looked, a little furtively, at his companion. The 
old man was contentedly sipping his over-sweetened 
coffee. His fine face was calm. There was some- 
thing noble about the manner in which he carried his 
broad, bent shoulders. He was a very remarkable- 
looking old man. 

The first time Mr. Willard saw him he had been 
strongly reminded of the engraving by J. A. J. 
Wilcox which forms the frontispiece of Ralph 
Waldo Emerson's Essays. Dr. Helstan was ex- 
ceedingly like Emerson in appearance. There was 
the same broad, finely developed forehead, the same 
prominent nose, with well-defined nostrils and 
arched bridge. Even the short, quite white whiskers 
were like those worn by Emerson in the Wilcox en- 
graving. Dr. Helstan was clean-shaven save for 
these side whiskers. No mustache hid the firm 
lines of his mouth, nor interfered with the com- 
pelling charm of his smile. People said that it was 
“ a splendid face." No one had ever accused it of 
weakness. Determination and great kindness dwelt 
side by side in the depths of the deep-set gray eyes 
framed in bushy brows. Determination and kind- 
ness joined hands with an extreme, entirely natural 
simplicity of manner. 

It was impossible to overlook Dr. Helstan. 

His personality breathed distinction which was, 


8o THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


in some subtle way, almost as physical as it was 
mental. 

For the rest, he was a tall man, who conveyed 
the impression of having once been an athlete. 
His clear skin spoke of excellent health. The 
exquisite condition of his large white hands whis- 
pered secrets of the bygone days when “ Willy 
Helstan” had been considered a bit of a dandy! 
And this spirit also revealed itself in the scrupu- 
lous neatness of his dress. He was a man who 
never, in any circumstances, laid aside his “ uni- 
form.” Parsons in mufti were his special aver- 
sion. It is recorded that he, on one memorable 
occasion, spoke his mind freely to a very influential 
bishop who believed in kow-towing to continental 
opinion. 

This eminent divine had graciously drawn Dr. 
Helstan — whom he secretly suspected of highly 
objectionable, revivalistic tendencies — into conver- 
sation at a royal garden party. A moment before 
the King had passed, and in passing had shaken 
hands cordially with the “ man of peculiar views.” 
One cannot be more fastidious than a king in his 
own garden, and so the bishop had drawn the 
old man into his charmed circle. Chance brought 
up the subject of continental tours, and the bishop 
plainly stated that it was a mistake for “ Catholic 99 
clergymen to give cause of offense to their “ Ro- 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 81 


man Catholic ” brothers. On the continent — 
so he stated — “ ordinary clothes ” — modest and 
discreet, of course — were the right thing. Dr. 
Helstan had remained silent. His silence had 
attracted attention. Questions had been asked. 
In answer the old man had said very quietly, “ I 
have never yet seen a Roman Catholic priest in 
knickerbockers and a tweed cap, my lord.” The 
statement was considered irrelevant and highly un- 
suitable. A very great lady, distantly connected 
with royalty and a cousin by marriage of the bishop, 
had at once, and with great decision, changed the 
subject. People — many of them of undoubted 
social importance — had expressed the opinion 
that Dr. Helstan had put a spoke in his own 
wheel. 

And Dr. Helstan had not been disturbed. 

He had met a great many old friends at that gar- 
den party. He had had, so to speak, a high old 
time. The King and Queen, who knew nothing 
about his limited appreciation of clerical mufti, 
had spoken to him more than once with marked 
cordiality. Indeed, the Queen, whose name was 
Alexandra, not Mary, even went so far as to 
ask if his only son intended “ entering the 
Church.” 

It had been a delightful afternoon, and since 
Dr. Helstan had really no desire to become a 


82 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


bishop, and was entirely satisfied to remain the 
autocratic, very kindly shepherd of an enthusiastic 
flock — why, all had ended well. Indeed, things 
had gone wonderfully well with the old man until 
the moment when a sorely overworked voice 
refused to answer the familiar call. He had been 
addressing an open-air meeting in a Surrey village 
when the breakdown occurred, and at first the doc- 
tors had said that it was only a passing trouble; 
they became more serious as remedy after remedy 
failed. Finally change of scene and complete rest 
was recommended. The Riviera was suggested, 
and every one hastened to speak of the quiet 
charms of Mentone, but Dr. Helstan was accus- 
tomed to deciding for himself. When he made 
up his mind to winter on the Riviera he also 
made up his mind to settle in Monte Carlo. “ I 
like to be in the heart of things,” he had said 
humorously; and after the first gasp of amazement 
his parishioners had accepted his decision with en- 
thusiasm. 

For more reasons than one Dr. Helstan wel- 
comed the quiet life — so far as he was personally 
concerned — of the famous gambling center. There 
were matters he wanted to think out: his lecture 
tour in the States; his boy’s future. He was a 
man who had always given high rank to personal 
freedom of thought and, within certain limits, of 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 83 

action. He felt strongly that in matters of ethics 
every man had to find his own level. A word or 
two of advice here and there mightn’t be amiss; 
better still, the unfolding of experiences which 
might bear on this circumstance or that. He had 
done what he could to put his boy on the right 
trail. He had never missed an opportunity for 
strengthening weak points and extending strong 
ones. He had taught his son to regard him as a 
friend rather than as a father. They had been 
very happy together. The years of separation, 
when Jack had had his fling in the Paris studios, 
had been happy also. The old man had known no 
real misgiving until the publication of A Woman of 
To-morrow. 

That was a blow. And a severe one. 

The book was clever. Much that was in it was 
true. Much was pernicious. This was Dr. Hel- 
stan’s firm conviction. 

He knew, of course, that it was a vindication 
of “ The Westland Case,” but he felt, and strongly, 
that “ The Westland Case ” could not be justified. 
Much less could it be taken as an example of future 
feminine possibilities. 

He had always deplored his son’s friendship 
with Bernard Westland. For Mrs. Field he felt 
much sympathy, but he could not throw the 
mantle of justification over her action and contin- 


84 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

ued attitude. A Woman of To-morrow was to him 
as a thorn in the flesh. He never willingly spoke 
of it. 

* * * * * * 

The two men sitting in the hall of the Hotel 

Bristol had been silent for quite a little time. 
People were beginning to come in and out. A 
pretty woman with rouged cheeks went by and 
paused near the coffee table. She tentatively took 
up a newspaper which was lying on the corner of 
it. Dr. Helstan bowed and smiled. She moved 
away, then stopped and seemed about to speak. 
She was one of those who ardently admired the 
tall man with the well-set head and broad shoul- 
ders who had strolled out on the Boulevard de la 
Condamine after dinner. She felt tempted to 
enter into conversation with his father. The old 
man looked at her. The expression on his wrinkled 
face was kindly, but she grew suddenly uncom- 
fortable. She caught up the newspaper and 
crossed the hall. Senator Willard’s eyes followed 
her. 

“ You will not find it difficult to supply your book 
on Monte Carlo with effective types ? ” 

“ Poor souls.” Dr. Helstan stopped short. He 
too, looked after the showily dressed woman. 
“ Poor souls,” he repeated. “ I’ve no intention of 
writing them up, or down. They are accidents, 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 85 

many of them. Which of us could dare to throw 
a stone ?” 

The American was silent. Then he said — 

“ I did not know you were interested in New 
Thought. In my country it has taken a great 
hold on many of our leading men — and women 
too.” 

“ I know. That’s one of my reasons for feeling 
so hopeful about rousing up a state or two. The 
soul of New Thought is Love. Its fruits are Faith 
and Hope and a glorious belief that we’re sur- 
rounded by friendly microbes. The essentials of 
New Thought are the essentials of Christianity — 
just as they are the essentials of life itself.” 

“ You really believe that mountains can be moved 
by faith?” 

“ My dear Senator, I more than believe; I 
know. Fill yourself with love and faith and 
you can’t help being a magnet. People may 
pretend to ridicule you, but they’ll snuggle up 
when they’ve got knocked down and want to be 
comforted. Believe in a man and let him know 
you believe in him. Your belief will water his 
best possibilities. It will make them sprout and 
blossom.” 

“ You are speaking of a man’s religious possi- 
bilities? ” 

“ I’m speaking of the possibilities that make him 


86 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


worthy to be a man and a brother. Every man 
has a lot of God the Father and of God the Son 
in him. Every man has fine possibilities, and 
it’s my business, and yours, to cherish and en- 
courage these precious germs. In the garden of 
life it’s our habit to keep on our heavy boots 
and to tramp about without caring a row of pins 
what mischief we may be doing. On this side 
we see what looks to us like arid land — dry, deso- 
late, neglected. We trample on it and jeer. 
And — who can tell? — it may well be that if we 
had taken the trouble to water it, if we had taken 
the trouble to soften the top hard soil, something 
might have quickened underneath. Something 
might have pushed its way towards the surface, 
enticed by those few drops of friendly dew. You 
never can tell, exactly , the true nature of the soil 
in the little bit of life garden which surrounds you. 
Best be on the safe side. Don’t tramp about with- 
out caring where you’re going; keep on refreshing 
the soil with the magic waters of belief. People 
may say you are cracked, but they won’t avoid 
you ! ” 

“ Dr. Helstan.” The Senator spoke impul- 
sively. Then he pulled up. A faint tinge of 
color mounted to his pale face. He was strongly 
excited, but it was not easy for a reserved nature 
to expand. He smiled, and his smile was returned. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 87 

For a second or two there was silence; then he 
added, “ Your ideas are very fine — very stimulat- 
ing. I do not wonder your son takes the business 
of life seriously.” 

“Jack?” The old man glanced up. “Yes — 
he’s serious enough in his own way.” 

Vivid curiosity crossed swords with extreme 
delicacy of feeling; curiosity was victorious. 

“ You are in sympathy with his rather advanced 
views about the future of women?” 

“ I ? Far from it.” Dr. Helstan spoke em- 
phatically. “ I think the boy has got hold of a 
lot of valuable ideas, but he is running them in 
harness with notions that are dangerous, if not 
absolutely pernicious. He’s of age and his own 
master, and I’m all against an over-dose of parental 
advice, but I’ve never made any secret of my dis- 
like for his last book. The story is founded on 
an episode which I consider actively sinful, and the 
mischievous part of the business is that he has an 
attractive style of writing. People read him. 
Some people follow him. I’m certain his intentions 
are good, but you remember the old saying about 
‘ good intentions ’ ? ” 

The Senator’s smile broadened. 

“ Yes, indeed. I can well understand that your 
son might easily become an influential leader. His 
personality is dominating — and very attractive.” 


88 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


“ He’s a nice boy. His heart is pure gold, but 
he has always been obstreperous — as a small kiddy, 
as a schoolboy and as a young man. Curious, that ? 
Now, I’m the most easy-going individual in the 
world — shouldn’t you think so?” 

Mr. Willard laughed outright. 

“ Naturally ! I quite realize the amount of suc- 
cess one might hope for if one tried to change any 
of your views.” 

The old man’s chuckle was delightful. Then he 
suddenly became grave. 

“ I expect I’m an obstinate creature, but I’ve 
never seen much good come of wibbly-wobbly ideas. 
I believe in searching for the truth and then stand- 
ing by it in all weathers. We’ve mighty little time 
to accomplish anything worth while in this life. 
It’s a crime to waste precious years trying to build 
up attractive-looking edifices on rotten founda- 
tions.” 

“ But I imagine that your son believes his founda- 
tions to be substantial? This is my idea; I have 
not yet had an opportunity for discussing the mat- 
ter with him.” 

“ Yes — no doubt. Jack wouldn’t lead people 
astray knowingly, but all the same that’s just what 
he’s doing. How can you apply the word substan- 
tial to a ‘ foundation ’ which is made up almost en- 
tirely of sin? ” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 89 

“ You are thinking of A Woman of T o-morrow f ” 

Dr. Helstan nodded. 

“ The woman was unhappy — much to be pitied 

— but that didn’t justify her in living with a man 
who was not her husband.” 

“ It is a big question.” Mr. Willard sighed and 
leaned back heavily in his chair. “ A terribly 
serious question. One can hardly realize the hor- 
rors of married life when the man and woman have 
ceased to care for each other — when they have per- 
haps arrived at actually disliking each other. Of 
course, in my country, at least in certain states, di- 
vorce can put an end to the matter, but in England 
it is not so easy.” 

“ Thank God ! As to your easy-divorce states 

— I hope to tackle them before I pass away — it’s 
an outrageous idea. Marriage is a sacrament, my 
dear sir. It should be taken after prayer and 
fasting. More than that, it’s a sacrament which 
can only be set aside by death. If two people 
find that they have made a grave mistake, if it 
is, for really serious reasons, impossible for them 
to live together, let them quietly separate. But 
let them, both one and the other, live decently. 
This lamentable idea of legalized free-love should 
be stamped out. That man Westland, one of 
Jack’s friends, has been pushing the notion 
forward. I find the same idea in A Woman of 


90 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

To-morrow. Jack has managed to cover the thing 
up in a cloak of sympathetic talk which makes one 
forget the actual truth, but there’s no getting away 
from the fact that it’s a sin for a woman to live 
with a man who is not her husband. Circumstances 
can’t alter that fact. Nothing can alter it. I used 
the right words when I spoke of ‘rotten founda- 
tions.’ ” 

“ You really believe that marriage can only be 
broken — really broken — by death ? ” 

The old man looked at him. 

“ Why, of course. ‘ Until death us do part.’ 
Those are very beautiful and very solemn words. 
And they were words which had a meaning in the 
long-ago days — when I was married, for example.” 
He stopped short. His piercing eyes grew soft. 
His wrinkled face glowed. Senator Willard looked 
away. It seemed to him that he had no right to 
mingle with those happy, beautiful memories. A 
moment later the old man went on, " People are 
very fond of saying that the conditions of women 
have improved — that they are improving every 
day. I don’t believe it ! Forty years ago our 
dear women were proud and happy to know that 
a home was a kingdom and that the man — their 
own special man — was the master of that kingdom. 
They didn’t want any one to tell them that they 
were right in line with him, for he made them 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 91 

feel it and know it — all the time. I don’t say 
that men and women were any more perfect in 
those days than they are now, but they certainly 
understood the rules of the game of Life far better 
than our modern men and women. The women 
of yesterday had the good sense to take for granted 
that the men they loved and the men they married 
would be true and faithful to them. They did 
just what I was recommending to you a moment 
ago — watered their own little life-garden and 
expected it to produce love! Maybe it was easy 
enough to throw dust into the eyes of those old- 
fashioned women, but I’m of opinion that the men 
of those days weren’t specially proud of such 
dust- thro wing. If you’ve a mate, who is also your 
best friend, you don’t feel inclined to do things 
that call for lies, and if you have done any of these 
things you just slip back home quietly and try to 
make amends by being extra helpful and consid- 
erate.” 


CHAPTER VI 


A T that moment some one quietly laid a hand 
on the old man’s shoulder. He looked up. 

“ Jack. You’re welcome.” Dr. Helstan turned 
in his chair and looked hard at the new-comer. 
“ Why — what’s happened ? You’ve the real ‘ God’s 
in His Heaven — all’s right with the world ’ look 
in your face. Any special good news in your let- 
ters ? ” 

Jack shook his head. 

“ It’s a glorious night. The sort of night that 
makes one feel thankful to be in the South. There’s 
plenty of sea salt in the air. Senator, will you come 
for a walk when Dad goes up to his room ? ” The 
American made a gesture of assent. He too was 
attracted by the glow of radiant happiness on the 
sunburnt face. It seemed to express triumph. 

“ You can start out as soon as you please. I’ve 
some work to do. I’m going upstairs directly.” 

“ Do you write at night ? ” Mr. Willard’s eyes 
expressed kindly interest. “ Don’t you find that it 
interferes with your rest? Makes you sleepless? ** 
92 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 93 

“ Not at all. I’m used to jotting down notes at 
odd moments, night or day. You’re late, Jack. 
What have you been doing — the Casino ? ” 

Jack nodded. Mr. Willard looked at him. 

“ Didn’t some one make a sensational coup this 
afternoon? Some people who sat near us at dinner 
were talking about it. They said some lady, a fa- 
mous beauty, had had extraordinary luck ? ” 

“ Yes. Mrs. Bellew won a good deal of money.” 

“ ‘ Mrs. Bellew ’ ? That lovely woman who is al- 
ways shadowed by a Russian prince with an impos- 
sible name ? ” 

“ I fancy there’s only one Mrs. Bellew here. 
She’s a beautiful woman.” 

“ I’ve seen her.” The old clergyman leaned for- 
ward as he spoke. He was looking at the Senator. 
“ She has faithful eyes. I wonder what her peo- 
ple are thinking of to allow her to stray about down 
here.” 

Jack stared. One of his hands was lying on the 
table. The fingers suddenly closed tightly, then 
opened. Mr. Willard looked surprised. 

“ ‘ Faithful eyes ’ ? I did not know you were so 
observant, Dr. Helstan — where feminine beauty is 
concerned ? ” 

The old man smiled. 

“ I see a good many things. That pretty young 
woman interests me. I’m going to find out who 


94 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

she is and something about her. I once saw a boy 
trying to drown a puppy. Seems to me that pretty 
creature has eyes like that small dog.” 

Jack stood up so suddenly that the basket table 
rocked. He steadied it with a furious hand. How 
could any one — even the dear old man — dare to 
say such a thing about her eyes? He strode across 
the hall and took up a magazine. He held it up- 
side down. Staring at the blurred letters he tried 
to control his temper. The old man had not meant 
to be disrespectful — that was certain. He had 
even meant to be kind. Jack bent his head over the 
book. There was something in that queer notion — 
after all. He hated the manner in which the idea 
had been expressed, but the idea itself had founda- 
tion. “ Faithful ” ? It did somehow express those 
wonderful eyes — at least partly. They were so ex- 
traordinarily youthful and confiding. 

* * * * * * 

Dr. Helstan looked after his son. 

“ He’s restless. Take a long walk while you’re 
about it. It will do you both good.” 

The Senator nodded. Jack was coming towards 
them. His father turned to him. 

“Seen anything of the Ellerbys to-day? Kate 
said something about coming over for tea, but she 
didn’t arrive. No sign of them at the Casino? ” 

“ No.” Jack was leaning against a pillar. He 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 95 

looked tall and masterful. “ Mrs. Ellerby says she 
hates Monte Carlo more than ever this season. I 
believe you’ve lost caste with her since you refused 
to take her advice about settling down at Mentone 
or Cannes.” 

He was laughing. The old man laughed too. 

“ I expect so. She’s a dear soul, but a wee bit 
strait-laced — from the point of view of gay dogs 
like us — eh, Senator ? Mentone for nice old ladies 
— Cannes for semi-royalties, but gay ‘ Monty ’ for 
us” 

The American nodded. 

“ Yes, indeed. And certainly you are becoming 
quite well known at the Casino. I saw you chatting 
with one of the head men, I think they call him a 
chef de table , this morning. How are your notes 
going on? Do you find any difficulty in obtaining 
the information you need ? ” 

“ None at all. I keep on asking questions and 
sifting the answers. They’re quite a decent set of 
fellows up there. I’ve never made any secret of 
my intentions or ideas, but I believe they’ve realized 
that I don’t mean to print any lies. If the Casino 
can’t stand up against facts, so much the worse for 
the Casino. I believe in facts, you know. And es- 
sentials.” 

“ Oh, * essentials ’ ? ” The Senator smiled. 
“ You should have come in a little earlier, Helstan. 


g6 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

You would have found your father trying to teach 
me the meaning of that word.” 

“ I’ve no doubt ! Which essential was it this 
time, Dad ? ” 

“ Love.” 

“ Universal ? ” 

“And individual.” 

Jack’s face glowed. 

“ Amen.” 

For a moment there was silence. Then the old 
man stood up. He laid a hand on his son’s arm, 
very affectionately. 

“ Good-night, Jacky — I’m off. Go out and walk 
off some of the excitement that’s bubbling up inside 
you — but not all of it. I shall want to see the 
‘ all’s right with the world ’ look on your face when 
we meet to-morrow morning.” 

* * * * * * 

A glorious night. 

One of those cool southern nights which seem to 
borrow fragrance from distant pine-woods and 
freshness from restless seas. The sky, darkly blue, 
was powdered with stars, but there was no moon. 
Ribbons of silver light, reflected from the thousand 
and one lamps of Monte Carlo, danced to and fro 
on the waters of the bay. There was music in the 
air, soft insistent music which whispered to the 
senses. In the shadows of the trees that clung to 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 97 

the heights of Monaco night birds rustled stealth- 
ily. Some strange, brooding spirit seemed to float 
above the sea, vast as a limitless desert, which 
stretched out and out towards the mysterious hori- 
zon. Across the bay all the world was obeying 
the magnetic call of that little ivory ball which never 
tires of rushing round and round in its black and 
crimson basin. 

Monte Carlo ablaze with light. 

On the heights of Monaco witch-like shadows 
and a great silence. 

The two men paced along. The hill was rather 
steep. They were walking slowly. For some 
time neither spoke. Jack Helstan was bare-headed. 
He had not even taken the trouble to bring a hat 
with him. His hands were clasped behind his 
back. His head was thrown up. His eyes were 
fixed on a dazzling cluster of lights across the bay 
— on the terrace of the Casino. He was dreaming. 
How lovely she was. How sweet. How abso- 
lutely delicious. His heart quickened its beat as 
he recalled, word by word, look by look, the won- 
derful happenings of that afternoon. Could any- 
thing have been more natural — more exquisitely 
natural — than the way in which she had spoken 
to him? Of course she could never have done such 
a thing if she had not realized that they two were 


g8 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

in sympathy. It seemed a conceited thing to say, 
even think, but then — hadn’t she given him the 
right to be conceited? Hadn’t she singled him out 
in a very special way ? 

Every pulse in his body throbbed as he realized 
that he was now really acquainted with her. That 
when they met on the morrow he would have the 
right to salute her — to smile — even to speak. 
They were more — much more — than mere ac- 
quaintances. He felt that they were already, as she 
had said, something very like friends. 

He stood still and leaned his hand on the stone 
wall which protected the hill road. His companion 
took a few steps in advance and then he also paused 
— his eyes fixed on the far-off lights of the Italian 
coast. 

The air was still, and yet it seemed to hold some- 
thing that vibrated. Something that caressed the 
soul like a breath of soft music. 

A great white cloud, lonely and frightened, hur- 
ried across the middle heavens in haste to join 
its comrades, floating out towards the open sea. 
From bursting buds on shrouded trees there came 
a dry sweet smell. 

There was tumult in the air, for all its stillness. 

Jack pressed his bare hand hard against the cold 
stone. Her wonderful, wonderful eyes! 

How surely they had pierced their soft way right 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 99 

into his heart. How confidingly they had spoken 
to him — in language far more eloquent than artic- 
ulate words. The eyes of a confiding child. 
“ Faithful eyes ” ? Yes — his father had described 
them rightly. 

He felt furious when he realized that he was, 
even now, uncertain as to their actual color. 
Golden-brown? Tawny-yellow veiled in velvet 
brown shadows? He could not be certain. But 
he knew that the long lashes were dark and that 
there were delicious maddening dimples in the 
rounded cheeks. 

Hot blood mounted to his face. He had curious 
depths of reserve in his character. He was capable 
of shyness even when alone with his own thoughts. 
He hated to lift a veil, even the veil which lay 
across his own heart. There were possibilities 
that were sacred — that could not be given form — 
even thought form, without something like treach- 
ery. 

A woman to him was sacred because she was 
a woman. And Love — with all its divinely secret 
possibilities ? 

There was to-morrow. 

And after that there would be many " to- 
morrows.” She was here, at Monte Carlo, where 


100 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


people who are strangers must meet half-a-dozen 
times every day. Where people who are not stran- 
gers might meet when they pleased. In surround- 
ings that were ideally beautiful — with life in the 
glory of Spring. 

Senator Willard suddenly broke the silence. 

“ How is the new book going ? Have you 
actually begun to write it or are you still making 
notes ? ” 

Jack started. For a moment or two he could not 
gather in his straying thoughts. He stared at the 
speaker. 

“ I beg your pardon ? ” 

Mr. Willard smiled. 

“Away in the land of dreams? I expect it is 
I who should ask for pardon. One ought to think 
twice before breaking into a famous author’s 
reverie.” 

“ Oh — nonsense. That’s all right. I was just 
thinking what a heavenly night this is. You were 
saying ? ” 

“ I only asked if you had yet begun to write 
the new novel ? ” 

“ No. A Woman of To-morrow seems to be go- 
ing strong. There’s no special hurry.” 

“ I have often wished to have a chat with you 
about that book. It interested me very much, but 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 101 


I confess I don’t quite understand what you meant 
to prove — for it’s evidently a novel with a pur- 
pose.” 

“ Yes.” Jack took a step forward. His com- 
panion joined him and they resumed their walk up 
the hill which led to the heights of Monaco. For 
several minutes neither spoke. Then Jack said, 
“ It’s an open secret that it’s a fairly accurate 
history of certain happenings in the lives, of my 
friends the Westlands. Bernard Westland is my 
best friend, a tremendously decent, clever fellow, 
and I was so disgusted with the way people talked 
about him and Mrs. Westland that I asked them to 
allow me to state their case plainly — in a novel. 
It’s loathsome — the way people sneer at things 
they don’t understand and blacken the character of 
women who ought to occupy thrones.” 

Mr. Willard looked surprised. 

“ But your Woman of To-morrow was not mar- 
ried to the man she lived with? I remember that 
you made rather a point of the fact that her hus- 
band would not divorce her ? ” 

“ Wretched cad.” Jack spoke violently. “ No 
— Mrs. Westland has no legal right to Bernard’s 
name, though she’s his wife in every decent sense 
of the word. Field, the husband, wouldn’t divorce 
her because he’s a mean spiteful brute. First he 
insulted her grossly and then he made it certain 


102 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 


that every one else would add to his insults. If I 
had been in Bernard’s place I’d have put him out 
of the way long ago.” 

“ My dear friend.” Senator Willard laid his 
hand on the young man’s arm. But he was 
smiling. “ It is well that these dark walls have 
not ears. You might find yourself in a tight 
corner if anything happened to this tiresome hus- 
band.” 

Jack said nothing. His mouth was hard. In 
his eyes there was an angry light. The American 
looked at him. Then he slid his hand through his 
arm. 

“ Come now — be just. I can understand that 
you sympathize with your friend and with the 
woman he loves, but you must admit that it is not 
quite agreeable for a husband, any husband, to dis- 
cover that his wife has not been faithful to him. 
And I take it that this was the case ? ” 

“ Not at all. The thing happened just as I 
have described it. Captain Field was, and is, a 
drunkard and a gambler. He led his wife the devil 
of a life, but she made the best of it for the sake of 
the child, a boy whom she adores. Field spent or 
lost all their money and she had to work. She’s 
a very clever woman, and after a time she got a 
post on The Gazette , Westland’s paper, you know. 
She and Bernard were good friends but nothing 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 103 

more. Thafs certain. Of course he cared for 
her and she for him, but they both have strong 
views about what is due to Love — real love, I 
mean. They’d have been content to remain good 
friends right on to the end if Field hadn’t behaved 
like a despicable cur. He came home one evening 
and found them together, going over some im- 
portant proofs. He was drunk and he elected 
to make a scene. He said frightful things and 
Bernard couldn’t stand it. He just told Field 
what he thought of him and' — carried off Mrs. 
Field. Naturally they expected a divorce, but 
no! The fellow didn’t want to marry again, and 
he saw his way to a dastardly revenge. Westland 
should never marry the woman he adored. Just 
at first Mrs. Field was like a mad woman. She 
even wanted to ask the creature to take her back 
because of the child. But Bernard held out. He 
knew Field fairly well — he knew the brute would 
do anything for money, and after a time he pro- 
posed to him to give up the boy in return for a 
substantial sum, paid monthly and regularly.” 

The contempt in his voice was startling in its 
vigor. Mr. Willard looked at him. 

“ And the Field family ? They consented to this 
arrangement ? ” 

“ Old General Field kicked up no end of a row, 
but Field himself smoothed the matter over. I 


104 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

don’t know what he said to his people, but he was 
clever enough about the whole affair. He agreed 
to ‘ lend ’ the boy to the mother on the under- 
standing that when Gerald was fourteen he should 
be free to choose between the two — between his 
father and mother, I mean. Old Field had this 
extraordinary affair made legal in some way and 
there it has rested. Bernard is not a rich man by 
any means. It hasn’t been easy to find the money 
for Field, but he has never grumbled. He’d do any- 
thing — make any sacrifice — for the sake of the 
woman he loves.” 

“ I see.” Mr. Willard spoke quietly. He seemed 
thoughtful. “ You have followed the story very 
accurately in your Woman of To-morrow. An in- 
teresting case. I wonder how it will end. I re- 
member that you made the son turn out splendidly 
from the mother’s point of view?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Does it seem likely that young Field will take 
that line?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

Jack spoke abruptly. His companion, ever the 
most courteous of men, hastened to apologize. 

“ My dear fellow — forgive me. I was so much 
interested in this curious story that I forgot to be 
polite. It’s inexcusable to ask intimate questions.” 

Jack shook his head. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 105 

“ Not at all. You were quite right to ask the 
question, and there’s nothing intimate about the 
whole affair. Every one discussed it in London 
some years ago. That was why I got the West- 
lands to let me tell the real truth. As to the boy 
Gerald? It’s hard to say. He has had extraor- 
dinary advantages. Westland is a very excep- 
tional man, akin to a genius, and Mrs. West- 
land is one of the most splendid women I have 
ever met. The boy has lived in a pure, fine atmos- 
phere.” 

“ I hope it will all go well, but I confess I should 
feel just a little doubtful.” Mr. Willard stopped 
short. Then he said, “ He is still quite young, this 
boy?” 

“ He will be fourteen on the 30th of this month.” 
“ Ah ” 

The Senator made a little sound with his lips. 
Jack looked at him, then looked away. 

“ The critical moment? I wonder.” 

“ So do I.” Jack spoke impulsively. “ And it’s 
amazing that one could find cause for ‘ wonder ’ on 
such a subject. If you only knew that brute Field 
— and the life he leads — and the people — the dis- 
gusting men and women that are always about the 
place. And then the Westlands? An ideal home 
every way you look at it.” 

“Except ” Mr. Willard stopped short, 


io6 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


then added, “ It is intensely interesting. If you 
do not think that I am asking too much, will you 
let me know the boy’s decision — when he makes 
it?” 

“ Certainly. Bernard will write to me, of 
course, but I confess I feel nervous. The boy is 
a reserved, rather sullen little chap, and I’ve an 
idea that Field is up to some mischief. He’d do 
anything to hurt the woman who is still his wife 
legally — I believe he hates her. You see, she had 
found him out long before the final scene. And 
being the splendid woman she is it was impossible 
for her to live with him in any intimate sense. 
She stayed in his house because of the child, but 
she would have nothing to do with the man. And 
the mean scoundrel resented it.” 

“ Naturally.” 

“ Quite unnaturally, I think.” 

Senator Willard looked at his companion. He 
seemed about to speak, impulsively. Then stopped 
short. 

They had reached the circular plateau, on the 
top of the hill, which overlooks the open sea. They 
sat down on a low wooden seat. For several min- 
utes neither spoke. 

The night was still. 

They seemed alone on the heights of the strange 
rock which has been called the Rock of Hercules. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 107 

Mr. Willard took off his soft felt hat and threw 
up his head to greet the chill keen air. His eyes 
were fixed on the vast field of dark waters. Jack 
Helstan stared across the bay. The white towers 
of the Casino stood out against a background of 
invisible green. Was she there? Was she playing 
— at that moment? Was she alone? 

He felt restless. 

Suddenly he was seized by a mad desire to run 
down the hill and to cross over into the light of 
those twinkling lamps. 

In a quarter of an hour — less — he might be 
near her. Standing behind her chair. Touching, 
almost, the exquisite perfumed hair. 

He rose to his feet. Then, abruptly, sat down 
again. Mr. Willard looked at him. 

“ You are very much interested, so I judge from 
your book, in exceptional women?” 

“ You mean Mrs. Westland?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I don’t consider her exceptional — though of 
course she’s exceptionally gifted. She interests me 
very much because I think that she, in a way, rep- 
resents women at their best.” 

“ You consider it an ordinary type? ” 

“ Very much more ordinary than people think — 
or seem to think.” 


io8 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


“ She represents your Women of To-morrow ?” 

“ Yes. Very largely.” Jack spoke decidedly. 
“ I believe we’re on the eve of a feminine revolu- 
tion, and I can see women like Mrs. Westland lead- 
ing the revolt.” 

“ A revolt against what your English journalists 
call ‘ mere man ’ ? ” Mr. Willard was smiling. 

“ A revolt against the men who look on women 
as ‘ fair game.’ Against the men who treat them 
like capricious children — stuff them with sweet 
things — hang bead chains round their necks — 
tell them lies 4 for their good.’ Women are splendid 
reasonable creatures if they get fair play, and 
they’re much wiser than we are in many ways — 
and finer. They’re capable of extraordinary devo- 
tion and of the most sublime sacrifices. And 
then they are naturally discriminating. The casual 
life of the average man would be impossible to 
any normal woman. When they love, real love 
I mean, they’re capable of leaping right into the 
depths without thought of consequences, but the 
life of an average man — impossible.” 

He spoke violently. The American looked at 
him. 

“ You think that men and women are very differ- 
ent fundamentally? I wonder if you are right. I 
have sometimes thought that deep down they are 
strangely alike.” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 109 

“ You think that a refined woman, such a woman 
as Mrs. Westland for example, could take a lover 
here and another there, and so on ? That she could 
give herself to a man unless she loved that man with 
her whole heart and soul ? ” 

“ I have not the pleasure of knowing Mrs. West- 
land, but I imagine her to be quite an exceptional 
woman. Not that I believe the average woman 
capable of being what you call ‘ casual ’ in the 
ordinary masculine sense of the word, but I do 
believe that women, even the best of them, are 
very human. Of course the grande passion theory 
is ideal, but I contend that very many sweet and 
refined women have passing fancies which at the 
time seem serious enough.” 

“ You are speaking of flirtations? ” 

“ Perhaps — at first. But flirtation may easily 
become a dangerous pastime — given a meeting of 
certain temperaments and — opportunity.” 

Jack turned round suddenly. 

“ Are you speaking seriously ? ” 

Mr. Willard smiled. 

“ You are indignant, but really — I was quite 
serious. I grant you that the average woman does 
not start out with any intention of wandering 
into the danger zone. She has not, most happily, 
the masculine weakness for openly painting the 
town red, but — things happen. And I do not 


no THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


think that the grande passion has necessarily very 
much to do with these happenings. I can see that 
I have fallen in your estimation, but since we are 
discussing this delicate subject I may as well say 
what I think. I have read one or two books 
written by your friend Westland, and I have a 
fair idea of your own views. You both want to 
put women on a pedestal, and that’s an excellent 
idea; but I have a notion that women, all women , 
are already on a pedestal — that they were put there 
by Almighty God. It seems to me that you and 
Westland, and all those others who are interested in 
sex questions, might do well to look at realities 
rather than at ideals, for the realities of life are fine 
enough in their own way.” 

“ I don’t quite follow you.” 

“ I am not surprised, for it is difficult to express 
what is in my mind. I merely meant to suggest 
that it might be better to realize that Nature is very 
much the same in both sexes and to give women 
full credit for temptations resisted rather than to 
insist on placing them in a separate, glorified 
arena.” 

“ They belong to a separate arena. They have 
a right to a position high above the head of the 
average or even exceptional man. You are trying 
to rouse me — I can see that. You don’t really 
sympathize with such abominable ideas.” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW in 


“ Do not push me over the cliff if I insist that I 
really do believe men and women to be very much 
alike an fond . My experience tells me that there 
are hidden depths of refinement in very ordinary 
men and hidden depths of something which you 
would not call refinement in women who might be 
described as sweet and nice. I think it would be 
fairer, I don’t say better, though I really mean 
that, if we realized that Nature is capable of being 
very ‘ casual ’ where sex is concerned — that the mis- 
chievous old wonder-worker has, speaking roughly, 
only one set of emotions to deal out. A varied set, 
I grant you, but sexless.” 

“ No. No.” Once more Jack spoke violently. 
He stood up abruptly and walked to the railing that 
ran round the plateau. For several moments he 
leaned over and looked down at the sea. Then he 
came back. “ You are wrong, Senator. I can’t 
think that you have been speaking quite seriously, 
but if you really believe that the life of an average 
man would be possible to an average woman you 
are absolutely wrong. Individual women have been 
tempted beyond their strength. Women, in all ages, 
have been blinded by what you rather contemptu- 
ously call the grande passion , but all that is excep- 
tional. I believe and know that women as a sex 
are filled with the conviction that ‘ Love is a sacra- 
ment that should be taken kneeling and Domine non 


112 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 


sum dignus should be on the lips and in the hearts 
of those who receive it/ ” He spoke the, to him, 
familiar words very softly. The Senator looked at 
him sharply. 

“ Ah Those are wonderful words. The 

finest, I think, that have ever been applied to Love. 
But — Helstan — have you forgotten that they were 
conceived by a man — not by a woman ? They have 
come to us out of the depths, and they have come 
from a man who had indeed been ‘ casual ’ where 
passion was concerned ? ” 

“ I know. But that has nothing to do with it. 
Those words express love as it lives in the hearts 
of ninety-nine out of every hundred women.” 

There was silence. 

Jack felt his heart beating violently. He was 
angry — and with a man he really liked. 

The conversation had been impersonal, of course. 
And yet he felt as though a personal note had forced 
its way to the front. Suddenly the beating heart 
seemed to break down its barriers — it took wings 
and rustled softly away — away — into the heart of 
those blazing lights across the bay. 

In the hush of the dark shadowy heights he 
seemed to hear again the gay soft voice — to see 
the wonderful eyes which were as the eyes of a con- 
fiding child. 

A delicious thought came to him. She was there 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 113 

close beside him — leaning towards him so that 
the perfume of white roses might steal into his 
brain. 

He closed his eyes. Unconsciously he stretched 
out his hands. 

****** 

Mr. Willard spoke. 

“ I think we had better stroll back to the hotel. 
It begins to get very chilly.’’ 

Jack stared at him. The American smiled. 

“ I hope I have not seriously annoyed you ? ” he 
said gaily. “ I admire and appreciate your fine 
ideas about women, never doubt that, but I have 
often thought that you, and writers like your friend 
Westland, go a long way towards making things 
difficult for them. It is very beautiful and poetic 
— this idea that they are all, naturally, angels, but 
it has its drawbacks. One expects so very much 
from a born angel.” 

Jack had recovered himself. He too smiled. 

“ Of course I’m not annoyed — there’s nothing to 
be annoyed about, but certainly you’ve surprised 
me. I thought you were much too keen an ob- 
server of human nature to make a big mistake about 
women.” 

“ You are quite convinced that what I have tried, 
very lamely, to express is a mistake? ” 

“ Quite.” Jack stood up and shook himself. 


114 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

He looked big and determined. “ It’s a beastly 
idea — that of the female rake. Beastly and inex- 
cusable.” 

“My dear fellow — who said anything about 
female rakes? I only suggested that there is a 
danger zone for men and women alike — without 
much, if any interference of the grande passion. 
I may be wrong in holding this theory — neverthe- 
less I do hold it. And it is because of it that I 
find it very easy to overlook a slip, even several 
slips, in ‘ a mere woman ’ which would seem tragic 
in the case of an angel.” 

They were walking down a steep part of the hill. 
Jack offered his arm. 

“ Senator,” he spoke gaily, “ I believe you’re a 
bit of a fraud. I think you’ve been trying to pull 
my leg. But all the same I’m glad to have an 
opportunity of declaring myself. I’m on the side 
of the angels — God bless them. Women like to 
be spoiled and admired, of course, but they know 
very well how to keep away from your ‘ danger 
zone’ — in fact, most of them don’t recognize its 
existence. They just want to have a bit of fun.” 

Senator Willard looked at the young man, and 
in his steadfast eyes there was admiration. It was 
very fine — this firm belief that women were a thing 
apart. Fine but — this was his conviction — dan- 
gerous. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 115 

He himself was an ardent feminist. He had 
many women friends whom he reverenced and ad- 
mired, but it had never occurred to him to imagine 
that they were really unlike himself, either men- 
tally or physically. He recognized that the cir- 
cumstances, social circumstances for instance, which 
surrounded him were not quite similar to those 
which surrounded them, but that had nothing to 
do with fundamental likeness — or unlikeness? 
He was a man who had always looked facts 
in the face. And to him the fundamental likeness 
of men and women was a fact which refused to be 
denied. 


CHAPTER VII 


HE dance-teas at the Cafe de Paris were amaz- 



A ingly popular. Every one who was any one 
in the monde , or the smart demi-monde, went to 
them. Unless you secured a table well in advance 
you were pushed into a corner, or invited to lean 
against a pillar where hurrying waiters jostled your 
elbows and avoided, as if by the intervention of 
Providence, saturating your gown or coat with cock- 
tails or maraschino or tea. 

On this particular afternoon the big, glaringly 
brilliant restaurant under the blue minarets was 
packed. An extraordinary crowd : perfectly dressed 
Parisiennes of the highest social position; cheeky 
cabotines from Montmartre; distinguished-looking 
Englishwomen who seemed prepared to be shocked, 
just a little; New York belles, fresh and lovely, 
eager to see and to be seen; men of varied nationali- 
ties. 

Every one was laughing and talking. 

A half-hidden orchestra, directed by a pale- 
faced man with burning eyes, was playing the 
last success in the Monte Carlo musical world — 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 117 

Le cri du corps. It was a languorous valse 
lente , and its success on the Riviera was largely 
due to the fact that its picture cover represented 
a lovely, very lightly clad woman who bore a 
strong likeness to “ the famous Mrs. Bedew/’ 
People, Lady Granville amongst their number, 
declared that it was a portrait of Mrs. Bellew, and 
that she had given permission for its publica- 
tion. Naturally enough the valse had a succte 
fou, and copies of it were eagerly demanded every 
afternoon from the chef d’orchestre, who was the 
proud composer. 

Just at first Betty had been angry. Then she had 
laughed. The picture was like and yet unlike her. 
Of course, it was not a portrait, and — quoi 
fairef 

5|{ j|j sfc $ sjc s|c 

Lady Granville was sitting at a prominent 
table with Colonel Manners and the English girls 
who had been with her at the Hotel de Paris the 
previous day. She was dressed in white and 
looking quite handsome. Close by, Sir Henry 
Chaplin was at a table with some men friends. 
In a quiet corner Mrs. Wainright was talking 
to Senator Willard. Twisted vases filled with 
daffodils stood on the small tables. The salle 
was full of golden light softened by cleverly 
arranged lamp-shades. There was a ceaseless 


n8 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


rustle of silken stuffs — a ceaseless whisper from 
restless feet clad in high-heeled shoes. The air 
teemed with excitement. 

Le cri du corps seemed to die away — then sud- 
denly it surged into amorous warmth. Paul Our- 
mansky leaned forward and said something to the 
lovely woman who was sitting at his table. She 
shook her head. Just then some of the dancers 
withdrew. It was possible to see across the crowded 
room. Betty’s eyes wandered in the direction of the 
door. Her color rose. 

She looked eager — then indignant. 

An impudent-looking Arab boy was offering a 
copy of Le cri du corps to Jack Helstan, and he 
was looking intently at the picture cover. Betty 
felt convinced that he was thinking, suspecting, that 
it was her portrait. 

How dared he think such a thing ! 

She sat quite still, staring at Jack and his 
companions — a quaint-looking elderly lady in a 
close-fitting bonnet of early- Victorian order, and 
a girl with an eager face, whose blue eyes were 
fixed adoringly — this was Betty’s idea — on the 
face of the tall man who was looking at the piece 
of music. 

Mrs. Ellerby stood still and watched the gay 
scene. She was a very dignified person: small 
and slight, with beautiful skin, and gray eyes 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 119 

which seemed needlessly observant. She was dain- 
tily dressed, in a curiously old-world fashion. Her 
black silk gown was accompanied by a black velvet 
mantle, and a rim of parma violets lay close under 
the brim of her bonnet, against her smooth white 
hair, which was parted in the middle and brushed 
back over her ears. Over her sloping shoulders — 
which were as distinctly early- Victorian as her bon- 
net — she wore a sable scarf. 

Kate Ellerby, her daughter, was a bright, 
fresh-looking girl, who was in reality not a “ girl ” 
at all, for she frankly admitted to “twenty-nine 
next birthday/’ But she gave an instant impres- 
sion of youth. She was not a beauty. Her 
features were irregular and her mouth at least 
two sizes too large, but she was attractive because 
of the eager, friendly look in her wide-open eyes 
and the really lovely smile which never wandered 
far from her lips. For the rest, she was “quite 
too English for anything,” to quote Lady Gran- 
ville: English from the top of her head, crowned 
with nut-brown hair, to the heels of her well- 
made, sensible walking shoes. She wore a nicely 
cut blue serge suit and a jaunty little hat, also 
blue, which had a crimson rose resting on the flat 
brim near the front. Her white chiffon blouse 
was of immaculate freshness and her white kid 
gloves were spotless. Kate was an enthusiastic 


120 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


Church worker — her favorite brother being Dr. 
Helstan’s curate — and she did not think it right 
to spend very much, at least not too much, on 
clothes; but she had saved up for this exciting 
Riviera trip, and she felt just a wee bit puffed up 
when, on looking round at the gorgeous crowd, she 
realized that her little ermine necktie was " quite 
correct ” and that hardly any of these wonderful 
feminine butterflies carried fur muffs. The ques- 
tion of an ermine muff had troubled her more 
than a little. She had wanted one — that was 
certain. But ermine, at least the real thing — and 
Jack had a horror of imitations — was so expen- 
sive. She had priced the “ sets ” in half-a-dozen 
different shops. In fact, she had almost decided, 
just before Christmas, on buying a lovely flat 
thing lined with white satin which had cunning 
slits at the sides to admit one’s hands. She had 
counted on a fairly generous Christmas check 
from Uncle Tom, her mother’s only brother, and 
her heart had been filled with pride, for she did 
want to look nice on the Riviera. But just when 
the great moment came near one of her special 
girls, chief support of an invalid father, got thrown 
out of work, and then — well, the money was 
wanted. It was rather disappointing. Specially 
disappointing because Kate had more than once 
heard Jack Helstan say that ermine was his 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 121 


favorite fur. She had shed a tear or two in her 
own pink-and-white room in the dark, and it was 
really an immense relief to find that muffs, at 
least big ones, seemed out of favor at Monte 
Carlo. Hardly any of the exquisitely dressed 
women in this marvelous restaurant carried a 
muff! 

Kate felt very happy. 

This visit to the famous Cafe de Paris had been 
an event and rather an ordeal. Jack had sug- 
gested it because Mrs. Ellerby wished to “ see 
everything while we’re here,” but Kate had heard 
a great deal about this special restaurant from 
friends who often wintered abroad, and she knew 
it was very “ dressy.” Now if there is one thing 
more disconcerting than another to a sensitive 
woman it is to go to a “ dressy ” restaurant over- 
dressed or under-dressed. Her mother was a dear 
old lady who held decided views on the subject of 
dress, as on most other subjects. She had recom- 
mended a pretty taffetas gown, a regular afternoon 
affair, accompanied by a Sunday hat trimmed 
with black ostrich feathers. The taffetas gown 
was pretty, but Kate remembered something she 
had heard from Lady Conway, the wealthiest 
member of St. Luke’s congregation : “ Navy blue 

serge is always safe if it has been cut by the 
right man.” Mrs. Ellerby had sniffed in her own 


122 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


particular, really delightful way, but Kate had de- 
cided to be “ safe.” The serge suit she was wear- 
ing had been cut by a man who came, quite fairly, 
under the heading “ good,” and she mentally blessed 
Lady Conway when she eagerly scanned the crowded 
tables and realized that, so far as personal appear- 
ance was concerned, she was almost in the swim. 
A pretty color rose to her cheeks. Her blue eyes 
were brilliant when she smiled up at Jack Helstan, 
who had just succeeded in securing a table not far 
from the orchestra. 

* * * * * * 

Betty stared at the little group. She was 
sitting behind a pillar, and she knew that Jack 
Helstan had not seen her. All the same she was 
furious with him. What right had he to be there 
with those tiresome women? — friends, or at least 
acquaintances, of that “ beast Alice Granville,” for 
she had seen smiles of mutual recognition ex- 
changed. Who were these people? That quaint 
old lady who was, in a way, so like her own sweet 
“ little Mummy”? For a second a veil of tears 
fell before the beautiful, angry eyes. “ Mummy ” 
had been far more beautiful, but she also had 
worn little early-Victorian bonnets — she also had 
that wonderful, unmistakable look of dignified 
purity. 

The old lady was charming ! But that horrid girl 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 123 

who was so obviously in love with him? Who was 
she? Where did she come from? Why was she 
with him? 

Betty had brought a host of delicious thoughts 
with her to the Cafe de Paris. She had felt con- 
vinced that he would be there. She had made up 
her mind that she would, if possible, dance with 
him. Everybody danced everywhere at Monte 
Carlo — it was “ quite correct,” even for a clergy- 
man’s son. She had had a lovely little day-dream 
in which she had seen herself, felt herself , dancing 
with Jack Helstan ! She wanted, wanted to be near 
him. And in such a crowd it would have been, as 
she had decided, “ quite correct.” 

She was bitterly disappointed. 

And her disappointment made her want to be 
cruel — to herself. She hated Paul Ourmansky to 
touch her. Instinctively she shrank from him — 
yet she turned to him and spoke. His eyes 
dilated. He smiled. At that moment the music 
grew very soft, it seemed to die away, but Prince 
Paul stood up and looked at the chef d’orchestre. 
Immediately the violins sang. There was a crash 
of ’cello and cymbalum, and then the haunting valse 
resumed its enervating career. Every one crowded 
to the front. There were whispers — eager voices 
— half-veiled jests. 

Mrs. Bellew was going to dance ! 


124 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

Mrs. Wainright stood up and watched the pro- 
ceedings through long-handled glasses. Senator 
Willard stood beside her. A moment before he had 
caught Helstan’s eye and had waved his hand in 
salute. 

Ourmansky led his partner into the middle of 
the space which had been left free for the dancers. 
For a second he stood quite still and looked at the 
lovely woman with the flower-like face. She was 
delicious in her clinging robe of dull rose silk. Her 
velvet toque made a somber, alluring frame for 
her creamy skin. She was delicious. Startlingly 
beautiful. Her cheeks were burning. There was 
a flame of excitement in her eyes. 

For a second she stood quite still. Then she flung 
a defiant look in the direction of the tall man who 
had risen to his feet suddenly. He saw her now. 
She laughed. She swayed towards the man who 
was waiting for her and they glided slowly round 
the room. 

People jeer at the phrase “poetry of motion,” 
but Betty Bellew’s dancing was just that. Her 
little feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. 
She seemed to float rather than dance, and the 
Russian proved himself a worthy partner. He 
held her close, and yet it seemed as though he was 
not holding her at all. Their bodies moved in 
perfect unison. Once when the music grew very 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 125 

soft and seductive he loosed his hold and they 
danced alone, face to face, breast to breast, but 
without touching each other. The spectators fol- 
lowed every movement with breathless interest. 
Lady Granville alone, just before the music stopped, 
spoke aloud. 

“ The professionals may take a back seat after 
that! I suppose we shall hear of a grand-ducal 
* turn ’ at some of the Paris music-halls before 
long.” 

Colonel Manners looked angry. The previous 
night he had been presented to the Russian prince 
at the Sporting Club, and he had his own reasons 
for wishing to pursue the acquaintance. 

When Mrs. Bellew heard the familiar voice she 
suddenly stopped dancing. Her cheeks flamed — 
then the color died away. She looked tired. 
Without waiting for Ourmansky she walked back 
to her seat. As she made her way through the 
staring crowd Sir Henry Chaplin came to her side 
and said something in a low voice. He extended 
his hand; his wrinkled face was friendly. Betty 
glanced at him, bowed coldly and passed on. The 
old man returned to his friends, who began to 
chaff him loudly. He spoke sharply, and their 
laughter ceased. Betty, with deliberate inten- 
tion, walked past the table which Helstan had 
secured for his friends. He was still standing. 


126 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 


His face was eager — his dark eyes full of question. 
As she approached he bowed and smiled. Betty 
glanced at him — then passed on. In that casual 
glance there was no recognition. Jack sank back 
into his chair. He felt as though some one had 
struck him on the face. 

* * * * * * 

Mrs. Ellerby was sitting up straight in her 
chair. Her lips were drawn into a thin, tight 
line. She looked indignant. Kate’s face was 
flushed. She made a great effort to seem quite 
calm. Her hands trembled as she busied herself 
with the teacups. A horrible conviction came to 
her that she might cry at any moment. What did 
it mean? 

What could it mean? 

All through that dreadful dance she had watched 
Jack’s face. She had seen his eyes following that 
wonderful figure in rose pink. She had seen the 
look of passionate admiration on the face she loved 
— oh, so dearly ! Jack was in love with this woman ! 
With the famous Mrs. Bellew whose photographs 
were in the shop windows at Mentone — and every- 
where. He loved her — and she? She had pre- 
tended not to see him, pretended not to know him. 
Why ? For certainly they knew each other — Kate 
had seen the look of mutual recognition when Mrs. 
Bellew began to dance. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 127 

What could be the meaning of it? 

Kate hurriedly buttered her toast. She was 
thinking furiously, and her thoughts were horrible. 
What was that Lady Conway had said about 
“ form at these foreign places ” ? Wasn’t it 
something about the impropriety of a salute 
between a man and a woman when the woman — 
wasn’t “ quite the thing”? Yes — Lady Conway 
had said something like that, and she had been 
speaking of Monte Carlo. But then it was Jack 
who had bowed and Mrs. Bellew who had passed 
on! 

Kate felt utterly miserable. 

She wanted badly to say something in a natural 
tone to the man who was sitting so still by her 
side, but she could not speak. At that moment 
Lady Granville stood up. She came across the 
little passage left free for the waiters and spoke to 
Mrs. Ellerby. 

“ Delighted to see you here. Glorious weather, 
isn’t it, for January! And the dancing — did you 
admire it ? ” 

Her pale eyes were fixed on Jack Helstan’s face. 
She found him attractive; otherwise she would not 
have taken the trouble to speak to “ that funny 
little old woman.” Jack had risen to his feet when 
she approached the table. His face was set and 
white. 


128 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


Mrs. Ellerby pressed Lady Granville’s hand. 

“Thank you very much — yes, we are enjoying 
the beautiful weather — we are staying at Mentone. 
May I introduce my daughter and Mr. Helstan — 
the well-known writer?” 

Lady Granville bowed and smiled. Her eyes still 
rested on the dark face of the silent man. 

“ Charmed. And the dancing? Come now, Mrs. 
Ellerby, give me your opinion. Wasn’t it excellent ? 
Quite up to the professional standard?” 

The old lady drew herself up. 

“I take it that it was professional dancing? 
The woman was, if I don’t mistake, Mrs. Bellew, 
and the man was, I suppose, a professional from 
Paris?” 

Lady Granville burst out laughing. 

“ Hush — sh — sh ! He’s sitting over there, and 
if he heard you we might all be knouted or crucified, 
or something gentle of that sort. My dear lady ” — 
she bent down and spoke in a meaning whisper — 
“ he’s a Russian prince — fabulously rich and fabu- 
lously immoral! Oh, no, certainly he’s not a pro- 
fessional — neither is Mrs. Betty Bellew — at least 
she’s not a professional dancer ! ” 

She looked at the man who had refused to return 
her ardent glances. There was a malicious ex- 
pression in her eyes. Jack bit his lip. He made 
a sudden unconscious movement. Kate laid her 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 129 

hand on his arm. He looked down at her. Some- 
thing in her piteous look made him smile. Softly 
he patted the pleading hand. 

Lady Granville watched the little scene with obvi- 
ous interest. She was still laughing. Suddenly she 
said, “Au revoir,” and turned away. 

Mrs. Ellerby looked after her. Then she pulled 
her fur scarf up about her neck. 

“ It’s time to go, Jack. I think we have seen 
enough of this curious place.” 

Helstan bent his head. To save his life he could 
not have spoken naturally. Kate arranged her 
mother’s scarf and veil, and then, love lending cour- 
age, she led the way a few steps in order that Mrs. 
Bellew’s table might be avoided. Jack felt that he 
wanted to clap her on the back. What a “little 
brick ” she was ! 

They wended their way, Jack now leading, be- 
tween the mass of tables and chairs. They reached 
the entrance door. Just then the cheeky Arab boy 
again offered copies of Le cri du corps. In a mo- 
ment of ungovernable rage Jack pushed him aside. 
Mrs. Ellerby caught the child’s arm to steady 
him. 

“ My dear Jack, pray take care. The little boy 
is only doing his duty. I am surprised to find you 
so rough with a mere child.” 

Jack made no answer. At that moment he had 


130 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

captured a glance from the loveliest eyes on God’s 
earth. She had seen his “ rough ” conduct. She 
had appreciated it — he felt convinced of that. His 
face cleared. He smiled. Over there — across the 
room — Betty smiled, too. Then she looked down. 
* * * * * * 

When the Cri du corps came to an end Mrs. 
Wainright withdrew into her secluded corner. 
She looked puzzled and a little vexed. She had 
been keenly interested in what her impulsive 
friend Mrs. Childers had said about Mrs. Bellew. 
She had even made up her mind to try and become 
acquainted with the much-discussed beauty. But 
this public, sensational performance. It was a little 
too much. 

Senator Willard, too, was disturbed. He was 
an observant man, and he had seen the look on 
Jack Helstan’s face when Mrs. Bellew was dancing. 
That look was unmistakable. It expressed the 
most ardent admiration. He had seen Jack’s salu- 
tation when the dance was over, and he had seen 
the manner in which Mrs. Bellew received it. He, 
like Kate Ellerby, was asking himself, “Why?” 
He felt disturbed. 

The Helstans, father and son, had made a most 
agreeable impression on him. He felt that they 
were already his friends. It hurt him to think 
that there might be some secret entanglement 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 131 

with such a dangerous woman as Mrs. Bellew. 
He sighed impatiently. Mrs. Wainright looked at 
him. 

“ The old order of things has changed/' she said. 
“ We profess to believe in democracy, but a perform- 
ance of that kind makes one realize that lines of 
demarcation are very desirable." 

“Yes, I quite agree. But " He hesitated. 

“ I suppose that lovely young woman really belongs 
to — all this ? ” He swept his hand round the 
crowded hall. 

“ She belongs because she wishes to belong. My 
friend Mrs. Childers told me a great deal about her 
the other day. She is a woman of good family. 
She ought not to be mixed up with these peo- 
ple." 

“ But any one may dance here — at least so I 
have been told. I should not wish a lady of my 
acquaintance to make herself so prominent, but then 
— Monte Carlo is Monte Carlo ! " 

“ Yes." Mrs. Wainright looked stern. She was 
vexed with herself for having been weak. “ Who 
was that tall dark man who has just gone out — 
with two English ladies? I saw you salute him, 
and I am quite curious to know his name. I have 
seen him at the Casino several times. A fine, strong 
face." 

“Oh — John Helstan? That is the man who 


132 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

wrote A Woman of To-morrow , you know. Don’t 
you remember that I spoke of him and of his father 
the other day ? I told you they were staying at my 
hotel.” 

“ I remember. He is a remarkable-looking man. 
Very handsome, I think. I should like to make his 
acquaintance.” She smiled. “A propos, I have it 
in my mind to ask for an invitation. Do you feel 
inclined to give a little dinner at the Bristol and 
to invite this wonderful father and son to meet 
me r 

Her manner was charming. Mr. Willard ac- 
quiesced with enthusiasm. 

“ Name the day, the happy day,” he said. “ Any 
day, or rather evening. Every day — every eve- 
ning ! ” 

“ Thank you. I perceive you have not forgotten 
how to make nice speeches. What about next 
Thursday evening? At eight? ” 

“ I shall count the hours until then.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


NIGHT 

T HAT evening Betty was restless — irritable. 

Her smart French maid, a little Parisienne 
who in early youth had made something of a suc- 
cess in the cabarets of Montmartre, found her “ im- 
possible.” 

Marie was sufficiently shrewd. She scented 
what she would have called, for her English was 
delicious, “a disturbance of the heart.” She was 
very patient but ceaselessly observant. Marie 
was not a specially scrupulous individual — in fact, 
in certain and various circumstances she was not 
scrupulous at all, but she was really attached to 
her mistress. She liked her almost, but not quite, 
as well as the steady flow of bank-notes which had 
lately found their way to her pocket from a Russian 
source. Quite honestly she felt that Prince Paul 
had been sent by Providence. He was ideal. “ Ma- 
dame was still young — but quite young — mais, 
tout de memef ” 

When Betty, more or less satisfied after at least 
1 33 


134 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

six different gowns had been put on and off, at 
last went down to dinner, Marie drew a long breath 
and threw herself into a chair. What next? 
Mon dieu ? She was charming — but charming — 
Madame Bellew. But what did it all mean ? 
She drew out of an inner pocket a little thin note- 
book in which she carefully jotted down out- 
goings and incomings. All had been going so 
well. If things continued in this way long enough 
she might look forward to a comfortable old age. 
She might even arrive at being that most enviable 
of all human creatures, une rentiere. She banged 
her fist against the table impatiently. A silver 
frame fell down. She picked it up. Before re- 
placing it on the table she looked hard at the 
photograph within. It was a print, very clear 
and soft, which had been cut from an English illus- 
trated paper. The picture of a man with magnetic 
eyes and a determined chin. The eyes seemed to 
look at her steadily: the firm mouth seemed to 
smile. 

Marie’s face grew very hard. She knew some- 
thing about this picture — quite a great deal. 
She had often seen it on a table in the adjoining 
bedroom when she took in the petit dejeuner, 
and photographs cannot walk. She had asked 
“ Monsieur Pierre,” the magnificent individual 
who had command of Prince Ourmansky’s suite. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 135 

if he knew anything about this new-comer : she had 
taken an opportunity when her mistress was at the 
Casino to show the major-domo the picture. And 
“ Monsieur Pierre ” had scoffingly replied that he 
believed “ the person wrote for the papers.” 

It was positively wicked. One may tempt Prov- 
idence once too often. Marie recalled a personal 
experience of the beautiful cabaret days, when she 
had been une petite diable with shapely limbs and 
audacious eyes. That special gift of Providence 
had not been attractive — not a bit like Prince 
Paul, who was joli gargon as well as fabu- 
lously rich — but there had been money in the 
affair and she had been stupid — idiotic. And 
all because she had believed that she “ had the 
time ” — all because she had found a certain young 
Englishman, whom she had been proud to call “ Mon 
cher Capitaine,” adorable. For a moment Marie 
held the pictured face of “ the person who wrote 
for the papers ” between her vicious fingers. She 
longed to pull it out of the heavy silver frame and 
to tear it into tiny pieces, but she did not dare. 
“ Madame” was exquisite. “ Un veritable ange” 
— when she was pleased. But “ Madame ” had a 
temper. 

Marie put down the frame with a bang. 

* * * * * * 

Betty could not sleep. She had not gone to the 


136 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

Casino. She had not looked in at the Sporting Club. 
She had remained in her own little salon which over- 
looked the sea. 

All through the long evening and far into the 
night she had thought of the happenings of the after- 
noon. 

Who were those people? That quaint old lady 
who looked so like and yet so unlike her own dead 
mother? That girl with the openly adoring eyes 
and exaggeratedly English clothes ? Who were 
they? What were they to him ? She was in 
the shadows, for the nightlight which Marie had 
carefully arranged was shrouded in pale silk. 
She sat up in bed and pressed her hands to her 
eyes. She was very tired but adorably pretty. 
Her hair was arranged in two long plaits tied at 
the ends with rose-colored ribbons. There was 
a foam of lace at her throat and on the short 
sleeves of her nightdress. She looked like a girl 
of eighteen. 

Juliet in real life, with a string of milk-white 
pearls, large and full of subdued luster, circling her 
throat. Betty loved jewels. Diamonds — opals — 
pearls. All the white and pale tinted stones. But 
her passion was for pearls. 

Unconsciously she touched the great white 
beads. 

Her fingers tightened convulsively. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 137 

That string of white beads had been given to her 
by “ Gerry ” Mansergh. 

How well she remembered that wonderful Christ- 
mas. London had been covered with snow. There 
had been skating on the big lake at Granville Park, 
near Richmond. 

She had had a succes fou in white furs — white 
velvet — creamy white pearls. 

Dear old Gerry — he had not been rich as money 
is counted in the Guards, but he had been lavishly 
generous where she was concerned. Nothing that 
money could buy was good enough for her in his 
opinion. He had chosen the very best pearls he 
could secure in order that her white throat might 
not drive the beads “ sick with envy.” How well 
she remembered the loving words — the look in his 
adoring eyes as he spoke them. 

And what a string of lies she had had to tell about 
that lovely necklace ! 

“ Clever man in Paris who understood the art 
of ‘ reconstituting ’ big white beads from oyster 
shells.” She had told that story many times; and 
some people had believed it and had begged for 
the address. As for the others? Well, they 
had had, most probably, strong suspicions, but 
“ suspicions ” don’t matter very much. Her 
husband had accepted the story, so it had been all 
right. 


138 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

Betty’s fingers twisted in and out round the 
string, nervously. She loved them. But at that 
moment she found herself wishing passionately that 
she had never seen them — never seen those other 
costly ornaments which lay on her dressing-table and 
in her jewel-case. 

If only she could go right back to the dear old 
days, tiresome days in many ways, when her most 
valuable treasure had been a heart-shaped locket 
made of filigree silver, suspended from a fragile 
silver chain. When her best, almost only, party 
frock had been made of white washing muslin — 
when the purchase of a long pair of white kid 
evening gloves was an important event — when 
“ shoes to match ” could not have been secured 
unless “ things had improved ” with regard to 
the income of rents. They had been desperately 
hard up at Castle Martin. A chronic case of stony- 
broke. 

But there had been oceans of love and protecting 
care. She had been surrounded by admiration — 
delicious home admiration. 

The old servants, who were proud to serve “ the 
master’s family” even though wages had reached 
a stage in which they hardly deserved mention, 
had openly adored “ Miss Betty.” To them she 
had been as a little Queen. Not one man or 
woman amongst them would have hesitated about 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 139 

“ bateing the life out of ” any one who had dared 
to insult or annoy her. They had been so proud 
of her — all those dear simple souls. On her 
wedding day the elm avenue leading to the little 
church had been strewn with white flowers. The 
village children had joined their elders in giving 
voice to shrill shouts of triumph when she and 
Lance Bellew stepped into the shabby old carriage 

— the only one left in a great coach-house which 
had once held a dozen and more. It had been gay 

— delightful. 

Even Lance, ever ready to ridicule Irish ways, 
had found it “ all right.” Even he had been touched 
by the loving vehemence of the old retainers who 
stood in line to wish “ Miss Betty ” God-speed 
when the moment came for her to leave the old 
home. 

****** 

Her eyes were full of tears. 

What had brought it all back so vividly? 

What had made her think of those days — to- 
night ? 

A certain elusive look in a man’s dark eyes. 

A look which in some strange way had made 
her wish, with all her strength, that she had the 
power to “ begin again.” He had seemed to have 
such confidence in her. His manner had been so 
full of natural respect. And yet — he must know. 


140 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

But did he know — really ? 

Betty drew up her knees and rested her arms 
on them. Her cheeks were burning. Her eyes 
were fixed on a pictured face in a broad silver 
frame. 

Through the open window came a gust of strong 
sea air. It stirred the little curls that clung to 
her forehead. It invigorated her like a glass of 
sparkling wine. 

There was silence everywhere. Mysterious si- 
lence which knew nothing of loneliness, for it teemed 
with possibilities. 

Betty stretched out her hand and laid it against 
the cold glass of the picture-frame. There was pas- 
sion in the gesture — and something like fury. 

How stupid she had been. How utterly foolish. 
What a failure she had made of her life. 

The fingers of her other hand were still tangled 
in the string of pearls. 

What memories they awoke. 

The first really valuable present she had accepted 
from a man who was not a near relation. 

The first — lover. 

The first serious deceit. 

The first real sin. 

She had always been frivolous and vain and fond 
of admiration, but she had been brought up amongst 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 141 

people who were “ straight all through.” The 
Beresford men had been soldiers or sailors or coun- 
try gentlemen for centuries back. The Beresford 
women had been noted beauties and admirable as 
wives and mothers. Her own darling little 
“ Mummy ” had never, in all probability, known 
a woman in her own station of life who had " a 
lover ” in the Continental sense of the word. Such 
things did not rank amongst the possibilities of 
Irish county circles in those days. 

There had been plenty of fun. Hunting — 
dancing — fishing “ galore.” Flirtations by the 
dozen — a ceaseless chorus of admiration and ap- 
preciation, but everything “ straight all through.” 

She lay back against the pillows. Her cheeks 
flamed. Life, even from the very first, with Lance 
Bellew had been a liberal education. 

She had been an ignorant little fool. 

It had amused him to give her lessons in the reali- 
ties of “ life behind the scenes ” — in Paris and then, 
later on, in London. 

He had, in his own words, put her up to a thing 
or two. He had with eager hands torn aside the 
veil of ignorance which had so sheltered her. He 
had laughed openly at her girlish ideas — and 
ideals. 

After six months of married life she had been 


142 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

able to “ hold her own and a bit over ” in the fastest 
set in London. She still looked like a little white 
angel, but she “ knew her way about.” 

* * * * * * 

Betty suddenly covered her face in her hands. 

Another memory — heartbreaking — horrible — 
forced itself on her. The memory of a badly writ- 
ten letter containing a post-office order for twenty 
pounds which had reached her after her divorce — 
from Ireland — from Ballinagarry, her home vil- 
lage. The letter was signed “ your faithful old 
Bridget,” and it had been written by a servant who 
had grown old in the service of “ little Mummy.” 

How well she remembered the day she received 
that letter — that humble, apologetic offer of help 
to “ darling Miss Betty,” for Bridget never seemed 
to remember the married name. Betty’s eyes filled 
and overflowed when she thought of the day that 
letter had arrived. She had been miserable — de- 
fiant — sullen — furious. She had been hard. 
And old Bridget’s twenty pounds had broken down 
the wall of defiance. She had cried for hours. 
Cried as though she could never stop. 

The shame of it. The nobility. The love. The 
awful stab. 

Bridget — whose wages had been so small and, at 
the end, so irregularly paid. 

Bridget — who had never been able to lay by for 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 143 

“ a rainy day ” — who had given all that was best 
in her to her beloved “ Master and Mistress.” 

Bridget ! 

****** 

Betty took up the framed picture and stared 
down into the magnetic eyes. They seemed to 
reproach her. Very softly she kissed them. Still 
they reproached her — just as the real eyes had 
done when he was passing out of the Cafe de 
Paris. 

Hot tears dropped on the pictured face. 

Suddenly she turned out the electric light and drew 
the bedclothes up round her shoulders. Her burn- 
ing face was pressed hard against the pillows. The 
wet glass which covered the picture seemed to cool 
the fever in her cheeks. 


DAY 

The following morning was glorious. Warm as 
a day in May and full of sunshine. 

Betty had felt certain that she could not sleep, 
and yet she had slept — soundly. 

She awoke refreshed, even gay. She felt, some- 
how, happy. Hers was a mercurial nature. Up — 
down — trembling half way — rarely quite steady. 
She was the slave of impulse. At times a willing 
slave; but, willing or unwilling, still in bondage. 

As she sipped her chocolate and skimmed the 


144 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

newspapers she became obsessed with the idea 
that she was en veine. This was surely going to 
be a good day. “ Something lovely ” was going 
to happen. 

Several plans presented themselves to her 
mental vision, only to be dismissed. Then she 
thought of a modest excursion! She would go 
over to Nice early in the afternoon and order some 
frocks. Then she would come back and win a 
fortune at the Casino between 5 and 7 — her lucky 
hours. 

Yes — she would go to Nice — alone — and in the 
tramway. 

She smiled as she thought of the dusty, shaky 
tram which skirted the sea all the way to Nice. 
It was a funny way to go when Ourmansky’s big 
cars had been placed at her disposal. But then 
the dusty tram had its own attractions. It 
passed, quite slowly, before the entrance of the 
Hotel Bristol. There was, in fact, a stopping- 
point there. And the people staying at the Bristol 
were almost always out on the Boulevard looking 
at the hydro-aeroplanes which lived in that 
quarter. Something might happen. You never can 
tell. 

****** 

Once again Betty was hard to please. Marie 
knew that Prince Ourmansky was shooting for a 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 145 

big prize at the Tir aux Pigeons, and she brought 
forward an amazingly chic costume of white cloth 
and silver braid. Betty rejected it at once. She 
went herself to the big wardrobe, which lined one 
side of her dressing-room, and selected a little 
tailored suit in dark blue serge. It looked simple 
enough for a jeune fille, but it had been designed 
by a famous Paris artist. Any woman who had 
the entree to the ateliers in the rue de la Paix 
would have known that it was “ a little nothing ” 
which had cost more than a thousand francs. At 
her breast there were soft laces, and she wore, 
pressed down on her sunny hair, a flat-brimmed 
hat with a rose in front which was just a little like 
the hat Kate Ellerby had worn the day before at 
the Cafe de Paris. It was like and yet unlike — 
just as the two navy blue serge suits were like and 
unlike. 

Betty was not perfect. Far from that. 

The memory of that other, eminently refined blue 
suit lent brightness to her mischievous eyes. She 
laughed outright as she glanced down at her little 
patent leather shoes with their Cuban heels and cut- 
steel buckles. 

People were rather fond of saying — she remem- 
bered that in the old days — “ blue serge is always 
blue serge.” Well — it wasn’t true. 

The blue serge of the rue de la Paix had not been 


146 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

a bowing acquaintance with the material of the same 
name which lives in big “ Emporiums.” 

****** 

There had been no one special at the halt in 
front of the Hotel Bristol. It had been just a 
wee bit disappointing, but she did not mind — 
much. 

She was still feeling radiant and elated when the 
jolting cars pulled up: when it was necessary to 
get but. 

But as she strolled down the crowded street 
where every one seemed to be talking and laughing 
with some one else she began to feel lonely. She 
had been stupid. It would have been quite easy, 
and not really outrageous, to send off a petit bleu . 
Just a few words — not even a signature. It 
would have been such fun, and he would not have 
been at all shocked. Yes — certainly she had been 
stupid. A lovely, glorious afternoon wasted, for 
the dressmaking people would have been only too 
glad to send over models and patterns and every- 
thing necessary. She glanced into the shop 
windows. Once she stopped and looked intently 
at some silver matchboxes of novel design. She 
felt tempted to go in and buy one of them. Then 
the ever-ready color rose to her cheeks and she 
turned away. 

At last she reached the “ Maison ” which bore 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 147 

a world-famous name, but she was in no hurry to 
go in. At Nice show-windows are the fashion, 
and even this exclusive establishment permitted 
itself to display some of its lovely things. Mag- 
nificent sables and lengths of priceless lace were 
thrown together in studied confusion. At one 
corner a branch of orchids lay against the white 
floor. 

Betty stood and looked at the furs and laces, 
but she was not thinking of them. Her thoughts 
were with that petit bleu which she had not 
sent. 

People passed along behind her — talking, laugh- 
ing, flirting. Nice was enjoying a brilliant season. 
There was gaiety in the air. Suddenly she became 
conscious that some one was standing still behind 
her. She looked into the big mirror at the back 
of the show-window. The intruder was looking 
intently into the same mirror. Two pairs of ardent 
eyes smiled. Betty stretched out her hand without 
turning round. It was captured. 

“ Are you interested in sables and lace which cost 
heaven knows how much a yard ? ” 

“ Fm interested in this shop-window. Why did 
you do it ? How had I offended you ? ” 

They were still staring into the big mirror. Hel- 
stan had forgotten to set loose the captured hand. 
Betty smiled. Then she laughed softly. 


148 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ Are you mad with me ? — that’s real Irish, you 
know.” 

“Furious. But — why?” 

She gave his hand a little pinch and drew away 
her fingers. 

“ Because — oh, never mind. I can’t explain, and 
it doesn’t matter — now.” She turned and faced 
him. “ Let’s go in and choose frocks — I’m cer- 
tain you’ve excellent taste.” 

Jack nodded and held open the white door. Ma- 
dame Rachel, the chief vendeuse, hurried forward. 
Mrs. Bellew was, especially this season, a very 
important customer. All the world was talking 
about Prince Ourmansky’s devotion to her and 
he was rich — “ oh, la, la.” Mrs. Bellew nodded 
carelessly and passed on to an inner, oval room which 
was brilliantly lighted with electric lamps. 

“ Evening gowns,” she said. “ Not too elaborate. 
For the Casino or restaurant dinners.” One of the 
assistants pushed forward big arm-chairs covered 
with old rose brocade. They sat down. Jack was 
still smiling. He did not seem in the least disturbed 
by his unusual surroundings. Betty glanced at 
him. 

“ Sure it doesn’t bore you ? Very often men have 
tremendously useful ideas about dress.” 

“ I like it.” 

Madame Rachel, who had issued orders to the 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 149 

manequins in an adjoining room, looked at him 
sharply. She could not quite place him, but she 
had spent a good deal of time in London. She 
saw at once that his tailor was a man who knew 
his business. Mrs. Bellew exchanged a few re- 
marks with her. Then, at the other end of the 
room, a curtain was drawn back and a pretty 
girl walked forward, slowly. She took very small 
steps and her hips swayed with evident intention. 
She was powdered and rouged. Her big eyes were 
framed in lashes which had been generously 
touched with kohl. Her finger-nails shone like 
shells of a highly artificial order. She was su- 
premely self-conscious, and she wore a “ creation ” 
made of japonica-pink -chiffon, silver embroideries 
and masses of dazzling fringe. Betty looked at the 
dress. Then she turned to Jack and said — - 
“ What do you think? ” 

“ For the Casino? ” 

“ Or the Sporting Club ? ” 

He was silent. The pretty manequin had nat- 
urally white skin which had been made marble-like 
by generous coatings of liquid powder. The amount 
of material used in the corsage would not have cov- 
ered a medium-sized doll. Betty reddened. 

“ I don’t care for it,” she said. “ I’ve seen some- 
thing very like it. Please show me some really new 
and original models.” 


150 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

Madame Rachel waved the manequin away. 
Once more she looked at the man in the big 
arm-chair. Her lips tightened. Jack leaned for- 
ward. 

“ Don’t you like white dresses ? White lace — or 
that soft white muslin stuff? ” 

The vendeuse looked openly contemptuous. 

“ White lace. Madame is not looking for a wed- 
ding-dress — I imagine ! ” 

Mrs. Bellew looked at her sharply. 

“ I am very fond of white — let me see what you 
have.” 

Madame Rachel said something rapidly in French. 
Betty hesitated. Jack broke in. 

“ Why not, madame ? Surely Mrs. Bellew’s col- 
oring calls for white dresses and white furs? ” He 
spoke French without a trace of English accent. 
Betty looked surprised. The vendeuse became sud- 
denly obsequious. 

“ Monsieur has reason ” — she also spoke her be- 
loved language — “ much reason. I have something 
that will delight him — Madame also. A veritable 
chef-d'oeuvre 

She disappeared behind the curtain. Betty turned 
to Jack. 

“ How extraordinarily well you speak French. 
Where did you learn? ” 

“ After I left college I spent three years in Paris. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 151 

At that time I had an idea of taking up painting as 
a profession.” 

“ You are a painter? ” 

He made a grimace. She stared — then laughed. 

The situation gave her pure delight. Here he 
was, helping her to choose frocks, and yet, in any 
ordinary sense, they were strangers. She felt ra- 
diant. 

Madame Rachel had returned. She was pre- 
tending to arrange some furs which were thrown 
on a table near the curtain, but she was watching 
her client and making mental calculations. This 
“ monsieur ” was attractive. He was even “ chic ” 
and spoke French like an angel, but — who was he? 
And was he going to interfere with “the affair 
Ourmansky ” ? She was a business woman. 
Mrs. Belle w was very lovely, but she was not of 
those who could be trusted to make things secure 
financially. 

The velvet curtain was once more drawn back 
and a manequin, younger and fresher than the 
other, walked slowly into the room. She was 
gowned in purest white. A bewildering garment 
made up of fragile lace and Indian muslin with 
clever touches of silver and crystal here and there. 
Jack sat forward and looked at the dress. Betty 
looked at him — so did Madame Rachel. 

“ That’s lovely,” he said. “ At least, I think 


152 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 

so. Don’t you like it, Mrs. Bellew ? It looks rather 
like a girl’s coming-out frock, but I’m sure it would 
suit you to perfection.” 

Betty’s dimples popped out. She was so pleased 
that she felt shy. She sat quite still. Madame 
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. 

“ A poem — Monsieur, n’est-ce pas ? ” 

Jack nodded. 

“ Don’t you like it, Mrs. Bellew ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

He looked at her. Something in her face made 
his heart beat violently. He got up and came to 
her side. Betty looked at him. She stretched out 
her hands. 

“ These chairs are very comfy, but it’s impossible 
to get out of them gracefully. Will you help me — 
please ? ” 


CHAPTER IX 


A S they strolled down the street, Jack pulled out 
his watch. 

“ It’s rather early, but not too early, I think. 
Where shall we have tea? Do you want to listen 
to a band, or — shall we talk ? ” 

“ Not a bit too early, and ‘ talk ’ — please.” 

They were passing the English Tea Rooms just 
then. Jack looked in and saw that the place was 
almost empty. He turned to Betty. 

“ Will this do? I don’t think it’s specially smart, 
but I know the muffins are good.” 

“ Beautifully. I’ve been here before. I like 
it.” 

Jack made a noble pretense of looking for a 
comfortable corner. Then he led the way upstairs 
to the picturesque room on the first floor. He felt 
pretty certain that the lower salon would fill 
first. 

The “ rose room ” on the first floor was quite 
empty. They selected a corner near a low window, 
and Betty threw aside her sable scarf and muff. 
She nestled back in the depths of a roomy chair. 
i53 


154 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

Jack gave an order: then he pulled his chair close 
to hers. 

“ And now — please tell me ‘ why ’ ? ” 

“ Why — what ? ” 

“ Why you deliberately cut me yesterday after- 
noon.” 

“ I didn’t. That’s to say — we didn’t really know 
each other, and you were with — friends.” 

“ We did really know each other, and what had 
the ‘friends’ to do with it? I wanted, if I had 
dared, before you cut me, of course, to introduce 
them to you. The old lady, Mrs. Ellerby, is a 
darling, and I’ve known her daughter all my 
life.” 

Betty looked at him suddenly. She seemed about 
to speak. Then she looked down. It was quite a 
moment before she asked — 

“ Are they relations ? ” 

“ No. Just very old friends. Mrs. Ellerby’s 
second son is my father’s curate — a first-rate fel- 
low. The other son is rather famous. He’s a V.C. 
man, and one of the best.” 

“ Yes.” Betty’s voice sounded strange. “ Do 
you mean Major Ellerby of the Black Watch?” 

Jack looked eager. 

“ That’s the man. Do you know him ? ” 

“ No. I’ve heard some one speak of him — I 
don’t remember whom it was.” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 155 

Her face was slightly flushed. She pretended to 
have some difficulty in pulling off her long gloves. 
It was horrible to realize that Ronald Ellerby of 
the Black Watch had been one of Gerald Man- 
sergh’s friends. Jack leaned forward and softly 
drew off the rebellious gloves. 

“ Are you going to tell me 4 why ’ ? ” he said. 
“ Or shall we bury that disagreeable episode with- 
out honors ?” 

She looked up. He was amazed to see that her 
eyes were full of tears. For a moment they looked 
at each other. Then he caught her hands and 
pressed them. 

“ Never mind. IBs all right — now.” 

She tried to release her hands, and in doing so 
her little hand-bag fell to the ground. He picked 
it up and looked at it admiringly. 

“ How well they make these things.” He stopped 
short and stared at the name on the corner, in 
curved silver letters. “ ‘ Betty ’ ? Is that your 
name? ‘Betty’! It’s lovely. Just right. Ex- 
actly like you.” 

She smiled. 

“Think so? What is Miss Ellerby’s name? I 
suppose you are going to marry her ? ” 

“Marry her? Dear little Kate Ellerby? Not 
likely! Why, we used to go to school together, 
though, of course, she’s younger than I am. She’s 


156 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

a real good pal, but marry ?” He laughed 

right out. “ What put that idea into your head ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I thought you looked rather 
like engaged people. At least, I thought that 
she ” 

“ Looked ‘ engaged ’ ? What sort of a look is 
that?” 

“ Oh — interested — you know quite well what I 
mean.” 

He shook his head. 

“ I wonder.” He stopped short and looked at 
her: the ardent look she loved was in his eyes. 
“ I wonder what you looked like when you were 
engaged? ” 

“I? But that was ages — ages ago.” 

“ About how many ‘ ages ’ ? I don’t apologize 
for an indiscretion, for it’s obvious that you can’t 
mind speaking of your age.” 

Betty sat up very straight. She folded her hands 
demurely. 

“ Please, sir, eleven long years have passed since 
I was married. And on my wedding-day I was sev- 
enteen ! ” 

“ Just a little kiddy-girl — seventeen ? ” He drew 
a long breath. For a moment he was silent. Then 
he added, “ Yesterday was my birthday — I was 
twenty-eight, so we’re nearly the same age, though 
I look years older than you do.” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 157 

“ Oh, la, la! What a fib! You look twenty- 
two and act like eighteen! But it’s really rather 
funny that we should be the same age? ” 

“ I think it’s splendid, but no change of sub- 
ject — please. Tell me something about how you 
looked and felt when you were — seventeen ? ” 

“ You mean, when I was married? ” She smiled 
mischievously, then grew suddenly grave. “ I was 
ridiculously young, for one thing — and outra- 
geously ignorant of things — as things are in reality. 
I had never been out of Ireland — never been any- 
where — never seen anything.” 

“ You were very much in love — of course? ” 

Jack looked down as he spoke. He was eager 
to know, but hated to seem intrusive. Betty glanced 
at him sharply. There were hard lines about her 
mouth. Then her face cleared. 

“ Oh — as for that — yes, I suppose so. Lance 
was rather nice in those days.” 

“ He died — long ago ? ” 

He was still looking down, but his face was dis- 
turbed, strongly excited. Betty was silent. She 
was puzzled. Jack looked at her. 

“ Are you vexed? Of course, I’ve no right to 
ask so many questions, but I do so want to know — 
about you.” 

“ But you said you knew all about me — the other 
day?” 


158 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

He laughed. 

“ That was general knowledge. The sort of 
knowledge that all the world possesses. What I 
want is a little private information — if you don’t 
mind giving it.” 

She still looked puzzled, but a lovely smile stole 
across her face. 

“ You’re a most insistent person. Well — here 
goes. I was married when I was seventeen. My 
boy was born when I was eighteen and a half. My 
husband died when I was twenty-four, and — here 
I am.” 

“ You have a child — a little son? ” 

“ I had.” 

She bent her head suddenly. Jack stretched 
out his hand and gently laid it on one of hers. In 
his eyes there was vehement admiration and pity 
and — something else. Betty glanced up. Her 
soft cheeks were flushed. Just then a trim waitress 
brought in the tea-tray. She arranged it carefully, 
all the time looking furtively from one face to the 
other. She lingered over her task. At last she 
withdrew, closing the door softly behind her. For 
several minutes there was silence. Jack added a 
big spoonful of whipped cream to Betty’s chocolate, 
and arranged her muffin to his satisfaction. At last 
he spoke. 

“ Were you married in white satin? ” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 159 

She looked at him, amazed. 

“ Why?” She shook her head, smiling. “No! 
I remember I was very keen on wearing a gorgeous 
white satin dress, but Mummy had the dearest old- 
fashioned ideas about girls’ frocks. She insisted on 
fine Indian muslin trimmed with the lace she had had 
on her own wedding-dress. It was really rather 

quaint and sweet — rather like ” 

“ The dress you have just ordered chez Puteaux? 
I was certain of that! At least, I knew that was 
just the right sort of wedding-dress for you.” 

“ You’re a connoisseur in women’s clothes ? ” 

“ You’re poking fun at me, but, yes — I rather 
think I am. At least, I know what I like, and, 
naturally, I think that what I like is just right.” 
He was laughing. Then he became serious. “ My 
own mother was married in some stuff like white 
muslin. I don’t remember her at all, because she 
died when I was a baby, but my father preserves 
her wedding-dress in the old oak chest which held 
her trousseau. He showed it to me — once. On 
my twenty-first birthday.” 

“Yes?” Betty drank her chocolate in feverish 
haste. She was trembling. To hide her emotion 
she helped herself to some of the fancy cakes 
which were piled up on a dish. Then for the first 
time she noticed that her plate was full of muffin. 
She laughed nervously. “You’ll think you’re 


160 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


entertaining a very greedy person? ” She stopped, 
then added, quite naturally, “ Your father is often 
at the Casino. Does he find it interesting ? ” 

“ I thought you told me you had his dossier by 
heart? He is going to write a book on the little 
ways of the Casino, and he's a tremendous stickler 
for personal observation." 

“ He seems out of place in the dear old Kingdom 
of Democracy — that’s what the painter Chalifert 
calls Monte Carlo. He insists that there, and there 
alone, men and women, all men and women, are 
equal." 

“ Very much too ‘ equal,’ I think." He spoke 
vehemently. Betty raised her eyebrows. 

“ I thought you preached Liberty, Equality and 
Fraternity? In your books you are always saying 
something of that sort? " 

“ In the true sense — yes. But the Liberty, 
Equality and Fraternity of Monte Carlo is disgust- 
ing. Outrageous." 

Betty’s surprise was obvious. For a second or 
two Jack sat and looked at her. He wanted to say 
something, and yet he was afraid of giving offense. 
She was so extraordinarily young in spite of her 
twenty-eight years. So, in a way, unsophisticated. 
He was reminded of words he had read that morn- 
ing in a favorite novel : “ Woman, as she ought to 

be in the life of a man — something exquisite, deli- 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 161 


cate, ethereal, touchingly fascinating, protected and 
held by strength.” He had thought of her when he 
read the words. Now he was looking at her and 
realizing their truth. She was just that — “ some- 
thing exquisite, delicate, ethereal, touchingly fasci- 
nating.” And what she needed was to be “ pro- 
tected and held by strength.” 

“ I don’t understand ? ” Betty was looking at 
him inquiringly. He hastened to reply. 

“ Of course you don’t, but what I say is true for 
all that. Look here — I don’t want to be cheeky, 
but I do so wish I could make you see that it’s all 
wrong — this horrible system of equality between 
men and women who should never meet. It’s all 
wrong that low beasts, men in name only, should be 
able to hob-nob with refined women — with you, for 
example, at the roulette tables — that women who 
ought never to enter your presence should be able to 
sit beside you — jammed up close — borrowing your 
rake, asking to see your notes.” 

He was strongly excited. The veins in his fore- 
head stood out. H-is jaw and chin seemed hard as 
iron*. Betty looked at him with dilated eyes. She 
was very pale, but the windows were shrouded in 
lace. Her pallor passed unnoticed. 

“ You will think I am speaking strongly, but I 
assure you I feel strongly about this thing. Yester- 
day afternoon the outrageous side of it was driven 


162 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


home — at the Cafe de Paris. You in your inno- 
cence, and because of your lovely gay nature, felt it 
to be the right thing to dance there, but it was abso- 
lutely and utterly wrong. You were surrounded by 
the most questionable people — by men who have 
nothing better to do in life than to -track down pretty 
women — men who don’t care what they say or in- 
sinuate about women, even the purest and loveliest. 
You were like an exquisite lily standing alone in a 
wilderness of artificial flowers. You were as much 
out of place there as an angel from Heaven- would be 
in a Paris cabaret, and yet — you seemed uncon- 
scious of the horror. The spirit of Monte Carlo De- 
mocracy had blinded you — just as it blinds every 
one who stays there long enough. I often heard of 
this danger from my friend Bernard Westland, who 
knows the place well, but I never believed it until 
yesterday.” 

Betty sat quite still. Her face was white as the 
lily to which she had just been compared. There 
was a frightened look in her golden-brown eyes. 
She did not even try to speak. Helstan was quiver- 
ing with excitement. He pushed the table aside and 
caught her hands. 

“ Forgive me — please. I know I’ve no right to 
say all this, but the thing has caught hold of me — 
the horror of it, I mean. Yesterday afternoon I 
wanted more than I ever wanted anything in my life 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 163 

to rush in and carry you away from that place. I 
wanted to have the right to carry you away. I was 
ashamed of having been induced to take Mrs. Elterby 
and her daughter there. You can imagine how I felt 
about you — how I felt when that young brute of an 
Arab had the infernal audacity to point to you when 
he offered me that music. I saw red, I can tell you. 
It was all I could do to keep my hands off the scoun- 
drel — I wanted to strangle him.” 

“But every one goes to the Cafe de Paris?” 
Betty’s voice sounded far away. Jack’s fingers 
tightened on her hands. 

“ That’s just it. ‘ Every one ’ goes. And where 
‘ every one ’ goes you ought not to go. These for- 
eign chaps, even the best of them, have one great 
fault — they don’t know how to distinguish one 
woman from another. La femme is la femme to 
every Frenchman I’ve ever met, and she’s always 
fair game if she happens to be attractive!” He 
stopped suddenly. His burning eyes devoured her 
face. For the first time he noticed its extreme 
pallor. His voice grew very soft. “Tell me — 
how does it happen that your people allow you to 
run about down here — alone? Are you so com- 
pletely a ‘New Woman’ that you refuse to obey 
the voice of wise male relatives or friends?” 

“ My ‘ people ’ ? ” Betty stared at him. “ What 
do you mean by ‘ people ’ ? ” 


164 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

He laughed. 

“Why, your relations! Or, if you have come 
to see that relations are capable of being immense 
bores — your intimate friends? I shouldn’t like to 
make you conceited, but you really are too sweet 
and lovely to be mixed up, even in appearance, with 
the herd at the Casino — of the Cafe de Paris.” 

“ But there are what you would call * objection- 
able women ’ everywhere — in Paris — in London 
— in every restaurant ? ” 

“ Yes. But I wasn’t really thinking of the poor 
women who have been forced to choose a horrible 
profession. One can find plenty of excuses for 
them, though it isn’t right that they should brush 
their skirts against you. I was thinking of the 
true Monte Carlo type — the woman who might be 
called a semi-demi-mondaine. These creatures wear 
something like a cloak of respectability, and that’s 
what makes them so dangerous. They’re rotten to 
the core, but no one can say that they make an open 
profession of evil living. They live at the best 
hotels, surrounded by their men * friends ’ — they 
cover themselves with gorgeous jewels — have 
prominent boxes at the fashionable theaters — dance 
at the smart restaurants ! They’re all-pervading on 
the Riviera — especially at Monte Carlo. That’s 
why I do so hate to see you going about alone — 
without women friends, I mean.” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 165 

“ Stop ! ” Betty spoke the single word very 
loudly. She was almost unconscious that she had 
spoken it at all. Her face was white. In her eyes 
there was terror. She was trembling. Jack stared 
at her. 

“ I am sorry,” he said. “ I’ve frightened you 
— it was unpardonable, but — please — please — 
forgive.” 

“ What do you know about me ? ” Her voice 
trembled. “ You said you knew ‘ all about me ’ — 
what did you mean by that ? ” 

His face cleared. 

t: Just that you are the sweetest and loveliest 
woman I have ever seen ! ” 

“ You don’t know anything about me? You 
have not asked any one about me ? ” 

“ Mrs. Bellew! What do you take me for? Do 
you suppose that I’ve gone round collecting notes 
for your dossier ? ” He smiled. His thoughts fled 
back to that wonderful evening on the Terrace when 
she had said, “ But every croupier in Monte Carlo 
has your dossier” He drew his chair nearer. 
Betty shrank back. 

“ You really know nothing about me?” 

“ What is there to ‘ know 9 ? Have you mur- 
dered any one? Or cheated at roulette, or forged 
your favorite uncle’s name ? ” 

He was laughing. Betty stared at him. 


166 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


“ I thought you knew everything. Every one 
else seems to know, and then — I saw Alice Gran- 
ville speaking to your friends — and to you.” 

“ Lady Granville ? Do you know her ? I never 
met her until yesterday, but I think she and the 
Ellerbys are on visiting terms.” 

“ Alice Granville was my chief bridesmaid — 
when I was married in that white muslin dress.” 
Her lips trembled, but she hurried on. “ She 
wouldn’t touch me with a tongs now, because I made 
a regular mess of things. I was divorced — badly 
— so badly that they wouldn’t even let me see my 

boy, and since then ” There were sobs in her 

throat. One by one big tears rolled down her face. 
“Major Ellerby — you spoke of him just now — 
was an intimate friend of the man who — who was 
in my divorce — the man who was shot by my hus- 
band.” 

“ My God — not Ourmansky ? ” 

The strange, abrupt question seemed driven 
from his lips. He stared at her. She, hypnotized, 
stared back. For a moment that seemed like an 
hour, there was silence. Then Betty spoke a single 
word. 

“ No.” 

His hands shook convulsively. The cruel tension 
of his fingers relaxed. He stood up — drawing her 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 167 

up with him. They stood face to face. Betty 
made no attempt to conceal her tears. 

“ I’m sorry,” she said. “ I thought you 
knew ” 

“ I love you.” He spoke violently. “ I love 


He caught her in his arms and crushed her 
against his breast. He bent his head. 

Suddenly, before that almost certain meeting of 
lips, he drew back and loosed her hands. She sank 
into the chair and covered her face. He said some- 
thing — what it was she never knew. A moment 
later the door opened — and closed. 

She was alone. 


CHAPTER X 


I T was close on midnight. 

Jack Helstan was alone in his room. 

Senator Willard had had a guest, an old friend 
from one of the Southern States, and he had pressed 
Jack to make a third at his table. It had been 
impossible to refuse because Dr. Helstan had a 
sore throat and was remaining in his own room that 
evening. 

A nightmare dinner. 

The visitor, a genial rollicking “ sport,” knew 
Monte Carlo inside out. He had the gossip of the 
Casino and Cafes on the tip of his tireless tongue. 
Before the evening was over Jack was on intimate 
terms with Mrs. Bellew’s dossier. 

* * * * * * 

He was sitting by an open window. 

On the Boulevard de la Condamine there was si- 
lence. But the bay looked festive. It was framed 
in twinkling lights. 

A big liner was expected. 

Jack lit a cigar. For a moment he smoked it 
vehemently. Then he laid it down and forgot it. 
168 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 169 

How calm the night seemed. Unnaturally calm! 

Stars hung low in the sky. The atmosphere was 
clear. 

He pulled his chair forward and leaned his arms 
on the window-sill. 

He must think it all out. 

He had acted like a madman. He had insulted 
her. Only by the merest accident had he been saved 
from a ridiculous situation. 

He forced himself to review the happenings of 
the afternoon. 

That terrible moment in the tea-room. 

Her broken pitiful words which rang so true. 
Which, thanks to that damned scoundrel Hamilton 
Clark, he now knew to be true. 

With a violent gesture he flung the window wider 
open. 

* * * * * * 

They must have taken him for a lunatic — those 
nice girls at the English Tea-Room. He had rushed 
down the stairs and made straight for the street 
without thinking of anything but his own amazed 
horror. 

One of the girls — it was the one who had closed 
the door of the upper room so softly — had touched 
his arm and said something. 

When Jack recalled that humiliating moment he 


170 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

felt inclined to burst out laughing: but there were 
tears in his eyes. 

He had forgotten to pay the bill ! 

Hurriedly he had thrust a gold piece into the 
girl’s hand, but that was not all. She asked him 
something about “ how many cakes ? ” 

He remembered how he had stared at her and 
laughed. 

He remembered the girl’s amazed look — how she 
had turned towards the staircase. She had intended 
to go up and count ! or to ask — Betty ! 

His face flamed when he recalled the ridiculous 
scene. He had insisted in a loud unnatural voice 
that they had eaten " all the cakes ” — he had 
dropped the change which had been so carefully 
counted into his hand — he had at last flung open 
the door and escaped. 

* * * * * * * 

He leaned his head on his hands and tried to 
think. 

It seemed incredible — utterly impossible. And 
yet it was true. Not all of it — at least not all that 
garrulous beast had recounted. But enough. 

Demons had been working within him, secretly. 

At first he had been too much amazed to realize 
his own feelings. But just then, suddenly, a flame 
of furious jealousy broke loose. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 171 

Her divorce. 

The reason for it. Ample reason if half Hamil- 
ton Clark’s story was true. 

She had loved that other man. Loved him pas- 
sionately. 

****** 

His imagination conjured up scenes — mental pic- 
tures. 

“ The handsomest man in London ” — that was 
how Hamilton Clark had described “ Mansergh of 
the Guards.” 

And she had loved him. She had risked every- 
thing for him. 

He hated her ! 

Then with a desperate rush came the certain con- 
viction that he loved her more madly than ever. 

» Jfc >jc ijc * * * 

He sat quite still. 

How familiarly he had spoken — that man Clark ! 
How openly. And with certainty. 

It had not all been invention. 

Half of it might have been Casino gossip. But 
the other half? Her own pitiful confession in the 
tea-room ? 

****** 

A church clock struck two. 

He raised his head. 


172 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

He must write to her. 

He must , because he had told her that he loved 
her. 

He had told her that, and then he had gone away 
■ — without another word. 

.What had she thought? 

What meaning had she given to his violent words ? 

A feeling of horrible physical nausea came over 
him. 

She must have thought that he was just like those 
others. 

That he, when she made her brave, pitiful lit- 
tle confession had seized the opportunity to insult 
her. 

He had told her that he loved her — that was all. 
* * * * * * 

He took up a pen and began to write. 

His hands were clammy, but his brain was on 
fire. 

He wrote some words rapidly — read them — 
tore up the paper and began again. 

What could he say to her? 

Apologize ? 

He flung down the pen and covered his face with 
his hands. 

For many minutes he sat quite still. From be- 
tween his strained fingers there came tears. They 
dripped on the table. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 173 

It was horrible. 

Just to think of it. It was necessary for him to 
apologize to her because he had said he loved her 
without at once adding that he wanted to marry 
her. 

It was horrible. 

He had built up such lovely plans for their future 

— his — hers. He had gloried in the knowledge 
that he had at last met his ideal — the woman of his 
dreams. He had thought of her — dreamed of her 

— idealized her — worshiped her. 

He pushed the paper aside. 

It was impossible. 

He could not write. 

The night was very still. Out of the silence there 
came, gradually, a little insistent sound. Some one 
was whispering in his ear. Some one was recalling 
certain happenings in his own life. The gay stu- 
dent days in Paris — in London. 

Sullen red blood mounted to his face. He 
clenched his hands violently. 

That was different! 

But the whispers continued. Then they softly 
died away and a familiar voice took their place. 
Senator jWillard was speaking. “ It might be bet- 


174 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

ter to realize that Nature is very much the same 
in both sexes, and to give women full credit for 
temptations resisted rather than to insist on placing 
them in a separate, glorified arena.” 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

Jack stared out at the dark waters. 

He did not know what he believed. What he 
thought. Even what he felt. 

But he knew he must write to her. 

* * * * * * 

It was a strange love-letter, but it “ must do.” 

“ Dear , will you marry me ? I love you. 

You know that — don’t you? I love you, and I 
want you to try and learn to love me well enough 
to marry me. Will you? This afternoon I 
couldn’t say what I’m saying now because my mind 
was full of other things — of what you had said 
to me. But you were not offended — were you? 
Please meet me on the Terrace, our corner, at three 
o’clock. I want you to walk in the Cap Martin 
woods with me. I want to hear everything — to 
tell you everything. 


“ Jack.” 


CHAPTER XI 


JACK was on the terrace, waiting. 

In one of his novels Hichens has said: ‘‘In 
times of great stress people have to act in complete 
accord with their natural character.” 

Helstan’s “ natural character ” had, indeed, 
forced its way to the front in those crowded, turbu- 
lent hours between midnight and dawn. 

He had felt violent. 

His longing for Betty increased as the minutes 
rushed by. And because he so longed for her he 
almost, at times, hated her. 

Never for a single instant did he cease to think 
of her. 

The memory of her sweet little ways was torture. 
Her delicious trick of looking up suddenly — her 
eyes wide open as the eyes of an inquiring child. 
Her soft red lips slightly parted. Her white throat 
crying out to be kissed. He thought of her as he 
had seen her on the Casino Terrace that night — as 
he had seen her in the empty tea-room at Nice — 
before he knew. It was torture. 


i75 


176 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

In those hours he had come to see the gulf which 
lay between him and his friend Bernard Westland. 
He, Jack Helstan, was a sort of half-breed. Irish 
— English — Spanish. A dangerous mix. He 
had always imagined that the Anglo-Saxon blood 
predominated, but — did it? 

Just then he felt very un-English. 

* * * * * * 

He had been standing by the stone balustrade for 
more than three-quarters of an hour when Betty 
appeared. 

As soon as she saw the tall figure in gray tweed 
she stood still for a second. She glanced at the 
jeweled watch on her bracelet. She had wished to 
be the first to arrive. Jack came towards her. 

Even at that nervous moment she found herself 
admiring, passionately, the way his head was posed 
on his shoulders. He was a king amongst men. 

They met. They shook hands, quite naturally. 
Then they fell into step and walked through the 
tunnel which runs under the Casino. 

On the other side an open carriage was waiting. 

The coachman touched his hat and smiled. Mrs. 
Bellew was the celebrity of the season. 

They had left Monte Carlo far behind before 
either of them spoke. Then it was Betty who broke 
the silence. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 177 

“ Thanks very much for your letter. We’ll talk 
about it — later on.” 

Jack looked at her. She shook her head. 

“ Not now — please.” 

* * * * * * 

The carriage pulled up on the brow of the hill 
which leads down to Mentone. They got out. 
Jack said something to the driver, who nodded and 
smiled contentedly. Then they slowly walked to- 
wards the pine wood. 

Even though the year was still young the air was 
delicious. Warm and extraordinarily still. 

In the shadows of perfumed branches one seemed 
very far away from the laugh and jibe and scoff 
of everyday life at Monte Carlo. The monotonous 
click of the fatal ivory ball was forgotten. So was 
the sullen ping — ping — from the Tir aux Pigeons. 

Even in the depth of the little wood one could 
hear the murmur of a hidden sea. Tiny spring 
flowers were carefully unfolding their petals. Here 
and there a bird, high up in a tree, piped out a soft 
note of triumph. 

They came to a rustic seat and sat down. Jack 
threw off his soft felt hat. It was a horrible mo- 
ment. 

He felt a fool. A coward. But what could he 
say? How could he speak naturally? 

Betty leaned back. She was wearing the pretty 


178 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

blue suit she had chosen for the visit to Nice the 
day before. She looked exquisite, but very tired. 

The silence became painful. Jack forced him- 
self to look at her. At the same moment she turned 
her head. Their eyes met. In hers there was 
misery. In his violence ; and passionate admiration. 
Betty spoke. 

“ It was awfully sweet and dear of you to write 
that letter. I’m glad you wrote it. It did me good 
: — thanks.” 

“ You will consent? You will try and learn to 
— care for me? ” 

The bald words infuriated him, but he could not 
find any others. Betty flushed painfully. 

“ I like you very much — you know that. But 
you don’t really need an answer to the question — 
in your letter. You know that is impossible.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Because you are you — and I am I.” 

“ That’s no answer.” 

“ It’s the true answer. If I were a better 
woman or if you were quite another sort of 
man ” 

“ How do you know what sort of man I am? 
Is it because my father is a clergyman that you pre- 
tend to believe I’m not human? ” 

He spoke roughly. She looked at him, wonder- 
ingly. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 179 

“ I know you’re human enough, only — not that 
sort of human.” 

“ You mean ?” 

“ Of course you don’t want to marry me — the 
idea is impossible. And I couldn’t bear to think 
that you — thought of anything — else ■” 

“ Why?” 

Her eyes filled. She looked down. Her hands 
were tightly clasped on her lap. Jack looked at 
her. Then he fixed his eyes on the trees straight 
before him. There was quite a long silence. 

Betty touched his arm. 

“Jack!” She spoke very softly. “Please let 
us talk it out. We’ve both made a horrible mis- 
take, but let us be good friends — just for to-day. 
There are things I want to tell you only — it’s hard.” 

“ I don’t suppose there’s much you need tell me. 
I fancy I know everything — enough at any rate. 
There was a man dining at the Bristol last night 
who seemed to know you rather well. A garrulous 
brute who prided himself on knowing * dear old 
Monty ’ inside out. He talked about you — and I 
listened.” 

“ What was his name? ” Betty spoke excitedly. 
Crimson spots flamed in her cheeks. 

“ Hamilton Clark — of New York.” There was 
an ugly sneer on his face. Betty winced as from 
the cut of a whip. 


180 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


“ Mr. Hamilton Clark? Yes — I’ve met him — 
at the Sporting Club. He was a friend of a man I 
used to know.” 

“ Lord Acland — or ” 

“ Don’t!” 

Her voice broke. Suddenly he felt ashamed of 
himself. She spoke breathlessly. 

“ I suppose you’ve a right to say hard things 
to me, but I don’t feel as if I could bear them 
to-day. I just want to try and make you under- 
stand how things happened — even things that you 
think dreadful. You see we were brought up 
in different surroundings. You’ve always lived 
amongst people who take life seriously — like your 
father — your Woman of To-morrow. You’ve 
lived with people who are religious — at least, I 
suppose so — but the people I’ve known had only 
one commandment, the women I mean : ‘ Thou 

shalt not get found out.’ They did pretty well 
everything that men do — they were free as men 
are free, really, only — they were clever. They 
had husbands who knew when to shut their eyes or 
friends who had plenty of money, and so — they 
just went ahead gaily and no one seemed to think 
any the worse of them. Well — I suppose I wasn’t 
clever. At any rate / got found out and that 
was the end of it. It was stupid of me to get 
caught out, but people had always been so sweet 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 181 


and nice to me that I thought I could do what I 
liked.” 

“ You thought you had the right to deceive your 
husband — who loved you ? ” 

“ He didn’t love me at all — at least, not then. 
I wasn’t a bit his type, but he didn’t want any one 
else to have the bone which legally belonged to him. 
There’re lots of human dogs-in-the-manger, I can 
tell you.” 

She spoke defiantly. Jack turned and looked 
straight into her eyes. 

“You can’t make me believe that your husband 
neglected you while you cared for him — even 
a little.” 

“ I didn’t really care for him, though just at 
first I thought I was desperately in love. You see, 
I was young and I had never been anywhere and 
I wanted to have things. And then Lance was 
very nice at that time — he seemed most awfully 
fond of me, but in reality it was just that he found 
me absurdly ignorant about life and — rather 
pretty.” She looked at Jack furtively. A faint 
smile crept across his lips. His face was very stern. 
The smile faded. “ The mischief of it all was that 
I liked to be liked — I loved it. All my life, since 
I was a small girl, I have wanted to be liked and 
admired and made much of. I wanted it so much 
that I had to have it.” 


182 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


“Yes!” His face was very stern. “I don’t 
suppose you ever found it difficult to be ‘ liked.’ 
If that was your ambition it must have been grati- 
fied to the full, but what I cannot understand is 
your husband. He must have loved you very much. 
A man doesn’t shoot another man unless the woman 
means everything to him? ” 

Betty shook her head. 

“ You could never understand because you 
aren’t a bit like him — not a bit like any of the 
people I have known. Lance wasn’t himself when 
he shot Gerald Mansergh, but even if he had been 
all right I think he’d have done it just the same. 
It’s quite true that there are lots of human dogs-in- 
the-manger.” 

“ I think a man is justified, more than justified, 
in defending his honor.” 

“ Yes ? So much depends on what one means by 
‘ honor.’ Lance never bothered to defend mine un- 
til — that evening.” 

“ He trusted you.” 

She smiled curiously. 

“ Perhaps so. Who can say — now ? ” 

“ A man ought to feel that he can trust his wife.” 

“ ‘ Ought ’ ? ” She shook her head. “ I don’t 
believe it’s a good thing to put much faith in that 
old saying : ‘ Men are men and women are women.’ 

Men and women are very much alike — au fond” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 183 

“No!” Jack spoke vehemently. Betty looked 
at him. 

“ I know how you feel about it — I know from 
your books, but even very wise people sometimes 
make mistakes. I don’t know your world, but I 
do know that the people I’ve been mixed up with 
have been pretty much the same — men and women. 
It doesn’t matter whether men are found out or not, 
and it matters most awfully when it’s a woman — 
that’s about all.” 

“ You mustn’t say that — it’s horrible.” 

Their eyes met. Betty looked down hurriedly. 

“ Oh, well,” she said, “ it doesn’t matter. The 
only thing of importance now is that I should make 
you see, just a little, why things have happened as 
they have happened. I came here to-day to try to' 
explain — if you care to hear.” 

“ I do care to hear.” 

“ Yes ? Well — you see that the queer old world 
I used to know is built up on very shaky founda- 1 
tions — at least the people, the women, I knew 
intimately didn’t seem to have any foundation at 
all. They just drifted about on the social sea — 
cleverly. There was Alice Granville, for example. 
That's an open secret — I mean her friendship with 
Colonel Manners. Every one knows about it — 
Eddy Granville knows quite well and has always 
known, but just because he has chosen to run in 


184 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

blinkers she goes everywhere. Don’t you see what 
I mean about foundations? If my husband had 
been like Eddy Granville I might still have been 
going to Court.” 

“ I think he was right.” 

'‘To shoot Gerald Mansergh?” She flushed. 
For a moment she sat quite still. “ You don’t un- 
derstand,” she went on at last. “ You are judging 
Lance from your own standard. He was not a 
bit like you.” Again she paused. Helstan said 
nothing. “ Well — it doesn’t matter. I made a 
mess of things and got divorced. They all turned 
against me and I just drifted out — towards the 
half-world.” 

“ You shall not say that ! ” 

“ You’re thinking that your Woman of To-mor- 
row would have pulled boldly to shore — some 
shore ? Probably. But I’m not like her. I haven’t 
the courage to fight against impossible odds. Of 
course I might have taken in plain sewing, if any one 
could have been found who would trust me not to 
flirt with their butler as I came in and out with the 
work. I might have swept a crossing, though even 
there my unfortunate face would have declared my 
want of character. I might have done several things 
of that sort, but the idea didn’t occur to me. I 
fought as long as I could for my boy, and then — I 
went to Cairo — with Hugo Acland.” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 18; 

In her misery she spoke flippantly. Jack looked 
at her steadily. 

“ You loved him? ” 

“ Hugo Acland ? ” 

“ Lord Acland ? ” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“ I suppose so — more or less.” 

“ * More or less ’ ? And yet you allowed him to 
ruin your life? ” 

“ Oh, dear no — it was completely done for be- 
fore I ran away with him. As a matter of fact it 
was / who made things most frightfully difficult for 
him. His wife divorced him, and shortly after- 
wards she died.” 

“ And he didn’t marry you ? ” 

“ Acland ? I wouldn’t marry him for anything 
in the world.” 

“ You wouldn’t marry him, and yet ? ” 

“ I ran away with him — that’s what you mean ? 
I suppose it sounds dreadful, but it’s true. Of 
course, I didn’t really know him — at first.” 

There was a moment of silence. Then a horrible 
thing happened. Jack Helstan laughed. 

At the sound of that laughter Betty’s face 
crimsoned. She shrank back into a corner of the 
wooden seat. Helstan was leaning forward with 
his elbows on his knees, his face resting on his 
hands. 


186 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


He sat like that for several minutes. Then the 
strange laugh ceased. He turned and looked at the 
frightened woman. 

“ I must apologize, but I couldn't help it. The 
idea seemed so strange — almost funny. You 
didn’t ‘ really know him,' but you went away with 
him, alone, to Cairo! I suppose you didn’t really 
know him much better than you know me ? ” His 
mouth twisted. Betty thought he was going to 
laugh again. She looked at him piteously. He 
smiled. “ Don’t be afraid — I’m quite harmless — 
I was only thinking.” He stopped. Then he 
deliberately came closer to her. “ Tell me — isn’t 
it true that if I had chanced to have plenty of 
money — if I had chanced to belong to your 4 queer 
old world which has no foundations ’ you might, 
perhaps, have visited Cairo — or some other place 
— with me t ” 

He meant to hurt her. He wanted to hurt her. 

A look of shamed surprise came into her face. 
She made no answer. He caught her hand. 

“ Isn’t it so?” He stared right into the depths 
of her eyes. “ Tell me,” he said, “ which of these 
men did you really love — if you have ever really 
loved any one ? ” 

“ I cared very much for Gerald Mansergh.” 

“ ‘ Cared ’ ! I’m not talking about ‘ cared,’ I’m 
talking about love” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 187 

“ I thought I loved him.” 

Thought.’ ” He pushed her hand aside 
roughly. “ Have you never really felt anything ? 
Has your whole life been spent in thinking and pre- 
tending and experimenting? Have you ever really 
loved any one — anything? ” 

“ Yes.” 

He had pushed her too far. She spoke defiantly. 

“ Mansergh?” 

She shook her head. 

“ Not — Ourmansky?” 

“ You have no right to insult me.” 

“Insult? My God — where is the insult? You 
are always with him. You use his cars and his 
box at the theater, you gamble with his money 
when your own runs out, I’ve seen you do it — 
often. Why — you are both staying at the same 
hotel.” 

His face was quivering. He had completely lost 
control of his temper. He was blinded by furious 
jealousy. At that moment he felt he could have 
killed her. 

Betty looked at him. 

Quite suddenly something within her revolted. 

“ That’s true. We are both staying at the same 
hotel — why not? Should I have the right to ac- 
cuse you of being the lover of any woman who 
happened to be staying at your hotel — and who 


188 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


happened to be an acquaintance of yours? And 
what right have you to make such suggestions 
about me? Shall I tell you why you do it, why 
you think you have the right to insult me? It’s 
because circumstances have pushed me into the 
life that almost every man leads quite naturally — 
complacently. The sort of life that you yourself 
have probably led. You despise me because I’ve 
not been faithful to any one man. What do you 
know of such faithfulness — what does any man 
know? The man I married when I was seventeen 
took delight in telling me about his adventures 
‘ in gay Paree ’ — he didn’t spare the details, I 
assure you. Before I was eighteen I was as 
familiar with ‘ the sights ’ of Paris as he was — 
pretty nearly — for he took me everywhere. He 
used to say he had ‘ finished my education.’ He 
used to boast of having had the good luck to 
marry a little idiot * right out of the nursery.’ 
And that man was my husband, remember. And 
afterwards, when he got tired of the eye-opening 
process — when he went back to his beloved chorus 
girls, he thought he had the right to be wildly in- 
dignant because I had found some one who really 
cared for me — some one who thought I was too 
good and sweet to have anything to do with ‘ the 
smart set.’ I just lived as other women in my set 
lived, but I wasn’t clever — I got caught out and 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 189 

then lies were of no use; there was nothing for me 
to do but to skip right over the border and to have 
a good time while I could. ,, 

“‘A good time ’ ? ” 

Her eyes, now quite dry, blazed. 

“Yes. A good time! You men think you’re 
having a ‘good time’ when you play about with 
women to whom you aren’t married. Where’s the 
difference? What makes it reasonable for you to 
insult me just because I’ve been forced, in a way, to 
live something of a man’s life? Is that fair?” 

He stared at her. To save his life he could not 
have spoken at that moment. Betty caught her 
breath. 

“You believe you’ve the right to say I’m not 
capable of ‘ real love ’ because I’ve not been faith- 
ful to one man. I know you feel like that because 
I’ve studied your books, but did it ever occur to 
you that if such a theory held water no man — 
not one single man, most likely, could dare to say 
that he was capable of ‘ real love ’ ? I’m not think- 
ing of social laws — I’m thinking of what really 
happens inside one’s heart and soul, and I tell 
you that one’s real self is not altered by social 
laws. If a man who has lived what is called an 
immoral life is capable of real love, so is a woman. 
The differences between the sexes have been made 
by men and women, for their own convenience. 


lgo THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

But convenience has nothing to do with the heart 
or the soul. You’re a famous writer, but I think 
you’ve still a great deal to learn about life. A 
great deal to learn about women. We aren’t all 
made like your Woman of To-morrow. We don’t 
all take such a serious view of life. Most of 
us are neither very good nor very bad — we’re just 
women — and women have a weakness for drift- 
ing. Ever since I’ve read your books — especially 
the last one — I’ve wanted to tell you one thing. 
It’s not sin that degrades — it’s the consequence of 
that sin.” 

She spoke quickly — breathlessly. There was no 
fear in her face now. She was defending herself. 
She was, unconsciously, defending her sex. She 
was a very intelligent woman, though her beauty 
had always pushed that intelligence into the back- 
ground. For months past, ever since a certain 
terrible night at Seville, she had been thinking 
seriously about life — her own life. Now, face to 
face with Jack Helstan, she was giving voice to 
some of the convictions which had taken form within 
her. 

****** 

Helstan’s eyes were fixed on her face, but he 
did not seem to see her. He was searching in the 
confusion of his brain for the key to the mystery. 
Was this really the soft frail creature who had fasci- 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 191 

nated him, who had roused within him a passion 
of desire? Was this the beautiful sinner for whom 
he had felt something like contempt, even though 
he knew that he still worshiped the white, soft 
body? 

He had felt superior. It was a disgusting 
thought, but it was true. 

He had felt that he had a right to condemn her 
— even if he refrained from doing so — and he had 
not refrained. His thoughts stumbled back to his 
student days in Paris. He also had, in a way, fin- 
ished his education there. He had always been fas- 
tidious — as a youth — as a man. But he had led 
“ a man’s life.” She was right there. He had led 
a man’s life and he was absolutely convinced that 
he was capable of “ real love.” He knew that he 
was capable. 

Was there anything in her idea, which seemed 
to him so outrageous — almost disgusting — that 
there was no real difference between the sexes? 
That the accepted idea of necessary degradation to 
women was a convention instituted for the conveni- 
ence of Society? 

He tried to think it out, rapidly. It seemed to 
him that he must think it out. 

It was to a large extent “ the correct thing ” for 
a man to sow wild oats. 

It was not “ the correct thing ” for a woman. 


192 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 

But what had “ the correct thing ” to do with real 
life? What had it to do with character — with 
44 growth of soul ” ? 

He leaned forward and stared into the heart of 
the wood. For a long time there was silence. 
Then Betty touched his arm. 

“ W’e won’t talk any more about it to-day. I’m 
rather tired. I just wanted to explain, but I don’t 
suppose I’ve succeeded — I’m not at all clever, 
only — I’ve thought about things a good deal 
lately. I don’t want to justify myself — I know 
it was all wrong from beginning to end — but I 
do think it’s a pity we aren’t forced to look for 
solid foundations when we set about building up 
our life. You can’t expect much from a woman, 
even if she’s pretty, who has built up on 4 Do what 
you like, but don’t get found out ’ ! That’s a con- 
venient idea, but it can’t be solid.” He was 
looking at her and she smiled faintly. 44 Do you 
know, I’ve an idea that your father knows more 
about real life than you do? Do you mind my 
saying so — are you offended? Of course, he’s 
very, very, much older, but I don’t think that’s 
the reason — not all of it. I’ve an idea that he 
must have always built himself up on solid founda- 
tions. Always — even when he was as young as 
you* are. I told you that I liked his Why Not ? 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 193 

very much, and in the same little book there’s a 
lovely essay called “ My Brother.” Do you re- 
member it? Do you remember how it insists that 
we can’t live alone — however much we may want 
to. That we are all brothers and sisters, and that 
if I go wrong, or you, an injury is done to the 
whole family. It’s a dreadful idea in some ways, 
but I can’t get away from the feeling that it’s 
true.” 

“ Betty!” Jack spoke at last. “Betty — just 
now you said something — I want to understand 
what you meant. I asked you if you had ever 
‘ really loved ’ any one and you answered — 
‘ yes.’ ” There was a hungry look in his eyes. 
He caught her hands and held them closely. She 
flushed. For a moment she was silent. Then she 
said — 

“ I know what you think — you think I meant 
you ? ” He leaned towards her. The hungry eyes 
devoured her face. She shook her head. “No! 
I wasn’t thinking of you. I was thinking of my 
boy — of little Jim.” 

His grasp on her hands loosened — he drew back. 
Betty stood up. 

“ Shall we go home ? ” she said. “ At least — 
shall we go back to Monte Carlo ? ” 

He was standing close to her. She looked up. 
In her eyes there were tears. 


194 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

Jack bent his head and she offered him her lips 
— simply — as a child might offer a kiss to some 
one it loved. 

* * * * * * 

The afternoon had been warm and lovely. 

Senator Willard had induced his old friend to 
take a drive. They had enjoyed a cup of tea on 
the broad terrace of the Cap Martin Hotel. Then 
Dr. Helstan had suggested that they should return 
to the carriage through the wood. 

The two men mounted the incline slowly. They 
were surrounded by thickly planted trees. On the 
soft green carpet their footsteps were noiseless. 

Suddenly Dr. Helstan leaned heavily on his 
friend’s arm. He stood still. 

Senator Willard looked at him. Then he, too, 
caught sight of two figures — standing close to- 
gether — near the rustic seat. 

He said something. The old man pressed his 
arm. 

****** 

Very softly, with infinite caution, they retraced 
their steps and returned to the hotel. 

When they were back on the terrace which over- 
looks the sea Dr. Helstan spoke for the first time. 

“ You will oblige me if you do not say anything 
to him — or any one — about this.” 


CHAPTER XII 


T HAT evening Mrs. Wainright dined at the 
Hotel Bristol. Dr. Helstan and his son had 
been invited to make up the little party of four, but 
at the last moment, just after Mrs. Wainright’s 
arrival, a telegram was handed to the Senator. It 
had been sent off from San Remo, and contained 
the words : “ Many regrets, impossible get back 

in time for dinner. John Helstan.” 

Dr. Helstan was talking to the guest of honor 
when the telegram arrived. He was looking spruce 
and debonair in an immaculate suit of fine black 
broadcloth, but his face was stern, his manner un- 
usually quiet. 

Senator Willard read the telegram, paused, then 
handed it to the old man, with a few words of 
apology to Mrs. Wainright. Dr. Helstan held the 
paper in his hand. The stern look on his face be- 
came more marked. For a moment he stood mo- 
tionless. 

Mr. Willard and Mrs. Wainright were talking 
about some event of the afternoon; the lady was 
laughing gaily. Dr. Helstan read his son’s words 
195 


196 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

again. Then — the gesture was certainly uncon- 
scious — he crushed the paper in his hand and threw 
it into a wicker basket. 

Senator Willard turned to him. 

“ I have just explained to Mrs. Wainright that 
we shall only be a party of three — unhappily. 
Shall we go in ? ” 

The old man looked startled. Then he collected 
his thoughts. He smiled. 

“ I beg your pardon — of course/’ 

Mrs. (Wainright glanced from one to the other. 
She was looking very handsome and distinguished 
in a simple dinner dress made of black satin. Her 
beautiful white hair was dressed high, and at one 
side there was a diamond comb; it was her only 
ornament, except the famous pearl necklace which 
she wore night and day. 

Dr. Helstan looked at her admiringly. He turned 
to his host. 

“ Old age has its privileges — may I take your 
place — just for a moment?” 

He bowed and offered his arm. Mrs. Wain- 
right took it with evident delight. As they passed 
through the crowded hall every one looked at 
them. 

****** 

All through dinner the old man was curiously 
silent. There was a wistful look in his eyes. Once 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 197 

or twice Senator Willard fancied he saw the fine, 
capable hands tremble. The American was himself 
feeling uneasy. 

The discovery of the afternoon in the wood at 
Cap Martin had made a profound impression on 
him. And now — this strange telegram. What 
did it all mean? 

He doubled his efforts to seem cheerful and to 
amuse his handsome guest. It was quite evi- 
dent that Mrs. Wainright was enjoying herself 
thoroughly. 

To Dr. Helstan her manner was deferential and 
yet gay. Every moment she turned to him and 
asked his opinion on one subject or another. She 
was absolutely charming. Before the fruit came 
on the table the old man's heart was won. He 
still looked uneasy, very thoughtful, but little by 
little he allowed himself to take part in the ani- 
mated discussions which were cunningly started 
by the Senator in the hope that he might be 
“ drawn." 

* * * * * * 

Before they took possession of a cozy corner in 
the little salon where the Senator had ordered 
coffee to be served, Mrs. Wainright had plunged 
into the depths of social conditions in her own 
country. She had shown herself so genuinely 
interested that Dr. Helstan expanded. The stern 


198 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

lines had relaxed. The beautiful old face was 
beaming. 

“ My dear madam, it’s all so outrageously 
simple! Are we mad, that we find it hard to 
realize that every man and woman and child has 
a right to a share in the Father’s Kingdom ? That 
every man and woman and child born into this 
world has the right to fresh air and sunshine and 
wholesome food and decent clothes ? Are we 
mad, that we find it hard to realize that every one 
has the right to a fair chance to work and to sleep 
and to play and to eat? We may not all have 
the right to such pearls as you’re wearing, because 
very few of us have enough money to pay for 
them; but fresh air and sunshine, the sea and the 
fields, the little violets in the woods ” Sud- 

denly he stopped and looked down. Then, more 
slowly, he added, “ One can’t lay down a fixed law 
for social conditions, but it seems to me that the 
eight-hour theory is workable. Eight hours for 
good honest work, eight hours for sleep, eight hours 
for food and recreation.” 

“ Many of our men — most of them, I fancy ” 
— Mrs. Wainright glanced at Senator Willard — 
" work twelve hours a day — even more.” 

“ So I’ve been told. But the system’s wrong, 
in my opinion. If you borrow hours from lawful 
rest you’ve to pay a heavy penalty. And how can 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 199 

a man make himself acquainted with his family or 
with his friends if he has less than eight hours for 
food and recreation ? ” 

“ ‘ Acquainted ’ ? ” Mrs. Wainright laughed. 
Then she nodded her head vigorously. “ I believe 
you’re right! Many of our men — and I suppose 
it’s the same in other countries — don’t really know 
their own home people at all — really know them, 
I mean.” 

“ That’s just it. And if you haven’t time to get 
thoroughly acquainted with people you aren’t in a 
position to lend a helping hand when it’s needed. 
And if you can’t lend a helping hand — why, what’s 
the good of it all ? ” 

Senator Willard leaned back in his chair, well 
satisfied. He wished very much to please Mrs. 
Wainright, who was an old and valued friend. 
He knew that she would enjoy hearing Dr. Helstan 
talk if the old man could be induced to let himself 
go, and he had been nervous about the success of 
his little party since the arrival of that strange 
telegram. 

Dr. Helstan was wrapped up in his son. He was 
an exceedingly reserved man. So reserved that Mr. 
Willard knew that he would not in any circum- 
stances discuss that son’s actions. But the discov- 
ery at Cap Martin had disturbed him seriously. 
And then the telegram? 


200 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


Mr. Willard found Jack Helstan a congenial and 
amusing companion, but it was the father who came 
first with him. He would willingly do anything in 
his power to save that dear old man from disap- 
pointment. 

He leaned back and sipped his coffee. Mrs. 
Wainright was speaking eagerly. 

“ You would shut us out of Europe? ” 

Dr. Helstan smiled. 

“ Not quite that ! But I certainly think that Eu- 
ropean manners and customs and vices aren’t use- 
ful to you. When I’ve the chance, I mean to say, 
* Come over to Europe and amuse yourselves when 
you want a holiday, but don’t use Europe as a 
crutch. Strengthen your own legs and strike out 
on your own lines. You’ve got the right stuff, and 
plenty of it, in your own country. You’ve got 
young blood and fresh ideas and plenty of go and 
pluck. Push along on your own lines. Use the 
methods that are best suited to your own mentality. 
Join hands and swear to make America the finest 
country in the world — the finest and purest and 
most successful.’ ” 

Mrs. Wainright raised her dark brows in a look 
of comical amazement. 

“ Even you advocate worldly success ? ” 

“ To be sure. Why not? Every man has the 
right to succeed in this world if he works on the 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLE W 201 


right lines — on the lines laid down by the Father. 
We were meant to be successful. Remember the 
story of the ‘ talents ’ ! It’s our duty to do our best 
with the means that come to hand, provided these 
means will pass muster with Him.” 

Mrs. Wainright looked at him. Then her bril- 
liant eyes sought Mr. Willard’s face. He smiled. 
The old man watched them. 

“ You and the Senator are thinking that I’ll 
get put in my place — over there across the water 
— in your wonderful States? You think they’ll 
pluck off my fine feathers and show me up as a 
stringy old rooster, because I mean to wear my 
best broadcloth and put up at a comfortable 
hotel while I’m attacking, tooth and nail, your Al- 
mighty Dollar — for it’s the personality of the Dol- 
lar that’s tempting me to take that journey. I’m 
going to have a good try at putting that enemy in 
its place ! ” 

“ You despise money? ” 

“ No, ma’am — very far from it. But I’d 
despise myself heartily if money had the power 
to make me a slave. I’ve studied your country 
and your people quite a little bit, and I’m of opin- 
ion that you are being driven about by two lusty 
slave-drivers — Boss Dollar and Boss Hustle ! 
Your men are in such a hurry to make money 
that they’ve no time to realize what money is 


202 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


worth. They’re so fond of hustling through life 
that they pass out, many of them, without realizing 
what Life really means. I’m a conceited old 
man! I’m persuaded that I can do great things 
for your compatriots, and, please God, I’m going 
to organize a revolution in the States! I’m of 
opinion that lots of your young men and women 
are ripe for war, and I’m going to see if I can’t 
lead them out ! ” 

“ Against the Dollar ? ” 

“ Against the tyranny of the Dollar! Why, my 
dear lady, just go back even a little way — to the 
days when you were a girl. Not so very long 
ago ? ” He smiled and nodded his head. “ Cer- 
tainly not very long ago, and yet — think of the 
changes which have taken place since then. 
Changes even in the home — in home life. Twenty- 
five or thirty years ago it was quite an easy thing 
for a pretty girl with a modest dress allowance to 
dance about and enjoy herself with the best. 
People in those days used to give parties because 
they wanted their friends to have a good time, and 
all the nice goodies were made at home — by 
4 Mother ’ and the girls. People gave * surprise 
parties ’ and ‘ shower parties ’ — I’ve heard all 
about them from one of my parishioners who has 
cousins in Chicago. The boys and girls had a 
real good time, and nobody felt out of it, because 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 203 

nobody thought it necessary to make a big splash. 
And isn’t that the right way ? Isn’t that the 
true spirit of hospitality? Isn’t it a mean thing 
to try and ‘ go one better ’ than our neighbors 
just because we happen to have a little more 
money than they have? Isn’t it paltry? The 
Senator there gave us some fine Sauterne at dinner 
— and I like a glass of good Sauterne now and 
then! But if I was a very poor man and could 
only offer him lemonade when he came to dine with 
me — the best lemonade I could find, of course — 
shouldn’t I have the right to feel hurt if he, met- 
aphorically, threw that fine Sauterne in my face? 
You see, the truth is that my best is equal to his best , 
for it’s only the intention and gqod feeling that 
counts ! ” 

Mrs. Wainright looked dismayed. 

“ I really am afraid ” she began. 

Mr. Willard burst out laughing. 

" So am I,” he said. 

Dr. Helstan beamed on them both. 

“I’m not a bit afraid. Your people are a lot 
more sensible than you seem to think. They’ve 
had an over-dose of Boss Dollar — they’re rap- 
idly getting into the right frame for a revolt. And 
this is true of men in the highest positions as well 
as of the modest little house-wives in your coun- 
try towns. You’re tremendous — you Americans. 


204 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

You’re bound to rule the world — sooner or later 
— bound . Just at present, in my opinion, your 
sense of proportion is defective. You write Money 
and Europe in capital letters, and you’re still young 
enough to grimace when some one suggests that 
the family standard must be the public standard — 
that there’s only one code — that a man deserves 
to be kicked who thinks that he can do in public 
life what he’d be ashamed to do in private, even 
though that man might chance to be a multi-mil- 
lionaire.” 

Mrs. Wainright was excited. There was a tinge 
of color in her pale cheeks. She looked regally 
handsome. 

Senator Willard watched her and felt satisfied. 
His little party was a success — after all. 

For a moment or two no one spoke. Then Mrs. 
Wainright leaned across the table and looked at 
the old man; she was smiling. 

“I shall love your lectures! I shall certainly 
follow you — wherever you may go! Cannot you 
give me some official position? Are there to be 
programs — or explanatory booklets — or anything 
of that sort to be handed round? I think 
I should be successful in getting through the 
crowds, for certainly there will be crowds , fairly 
quickly.” 

“ I’ve no doubt.” The old man's eyes twinkled. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 205 

“ Don’t be afraid — I’ll find something for you to 
do. The Senator is already booked. He's going 
to kick off my revolutionary ball.” 

“ What are you going to do? ” Mrs. Wainright 
looked at her host. He laughed rather nervously. 

“ Dr. Helstan has formed far too high an 
opinion of my character — and of my influence. 
He imagines that I could do a great deal by 
making a firm stand — a sort of political stand — 
and of trying to get a few others to back me 
up.” 

“ My dear sir, imagination has nothing to do 
with it — I know what you could do. What you 
are going to do. As for this dear lady — how 
about a nice little watering-pot — and a nice little 
spade? I shouldn’t like to injure your gorgeous 
feathers, but I do want some watering done. I do 
want some, the more the better — lovely women 
with kind hearts, to soften the soil, here, there and 
everywhere, and then to water the poor dry earth. 
It would be the nicest possible work, I assure you. 
You’d enjoy it immensely.” 

Mrs. Wainright stared at him. Then she turned 
to her old friend. 

“ Do you understand ? ” 

Dr. Helstan laughed delightedly. 

“ Oh, dear, yes — he understands perfectly. 
I’ve had him boxed up in a corner, down there in 


206 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


the hall, for hours at a stretch. I’ve tried several 
of my ‘ chats ’ on him ! Come now, Senator, an- 
swer up. Show that you’ve profited by my gabble- 
gabble. Tell this new helper of mine all about the 
watering-pot and spade.” 

Mr. Willard hesitated. He glanced at Mrs. 
Wainright, who was eager and smiling. At last he 
said slowly — 

“ Dr. Helstan has an idea that there is good in 
every one — much good. And he thinks that this 
quality may be encouraged to come to the surface 
by the spade of human sympathy and the water- 
ing-pot of ” 

He stopped short. The old man reached over 
and patted his shoulder. 

“ Don’t be nervous, my good little boy ; say the 
word right out — Love ! Funny, isn’t it, that some 
of us are shy of that beautiful little word? Even 
grown-up young men who could sport mustaches 
if they weren’t so fond of razors?” He looked 
from one to the other, smiling. Mrs. Wainright 
grew suddenly serious. 

“You really think that, Dr. Helstan? You 
really believe that there are hidden possibilities in 
every one? Possibilities for good, I mean?” 

“ I don’t think it. I know it! The certain 
existence of good, predominating good, is the Great 
Reality of life. The man or woman who handles 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 207 

the spade of sympathy or the watering-pot of love 
hasn’t a hard task to fulfil. Half-an-hour would 
probably do the business — five minutes’ careful 
gardening has often brought to the surface the love- 
liest little crop.” 

“What a beautiful thought! Beautiful! I do 
wish I could do something to help. You make 
things seem possible — almost simple, and yet ” 

“ You doubt the existence of those precious 
germs? Or do you doubt the power of sympathy 
— and love ? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ I don’t think I doubt, but it would be difficult, 
I think — sometimes very difficult.” 

The old man looked at her. 

“ I fancy you’re thinking of some individual 
case? You have some one in your mind — some 
special person who seems to need watering?” 

She was silent. At last she said — 

“ I should dislike to betray a confidence, but the 
person I have in my mind is a sort of public char- 
acter — here. It is a woman, young and very 
lovely, who is staying at my hotel and in whom 
I have been very much interested. I have more 
than once thought of 'trying to speak to her — she 
really looks very nice — but, of course, it is not my 
affair; still ” 

Senator Willard bent his eyes on the table. He 


208 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


was disturbed. Dr. Helstan was looking earnestly 
at the handsome American woman. 

“ She is a woman — in trouble, I take it, and yet 
you say it is not your affair? ” 

Mrs. Wainright drew herself up. 

“As to ‘trouble/ I don’t know. She has cer- 
tainly had a sad history — I heard it from a friend 
of mine the other day. She is gay and immensely 
admired, but I have often thought that she does not 
seem happy. Once or twice she has looked at me 
as though she wanted to speak. To-night we came 
down in the lift together — when I was ready to 
come here — and she looked so sad ” 

“ May I ask if you are speaking of a lovely young 
woman who gambles every day at the Casino — a 
young woman named Mrs. Bellew ? ” 

Dr. Helstan asked the question breathlessly. His 
wrinkled hands were clutching a magazine which 
lay on the table. In his eyes there was a strangely 
eager look. Mrs. Wainright felt and looked sur- 
prised. 

“Why, yes,” she said, “that’s the woman. Do 
you know her ? ” 

“ I have seen her very often.” The old man’s 
voice was trembling. “ Are you quite sure that 
she was at your hotel when you left it to come 
here?” 

“ Absolutely sure. We came down in the lift 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 209 

together and I saw her going into the dining- 
room/’ 

Dr. Helstan leaned back in his chair and closed 
his eyes. 

Mrs. Wainright stole a glance at the Senator, 
but his face was well under control; it betrayed 
nothing. 

It was the old clergyman who broke the silence. 

“ Thank you,” he said. “ What you have said 
has interested me so much that I want to hear more 
— much more.” 

The expression on his face was beautiful. A holy 
calm seemed suddenly to have descended on him. 
He looked happy. 

Mrs. Wainright hesitated. Then she said — 

“ I don’t see that I can do any harm. The 
story is an open secret — Mrs. Bellew’s story, I 
mean. I heard all the particulars the other 
day from a charming Englishwoman who used 
to know her quite intimately — when she was in 
society.” 

“ I’m quite sure that you will not do any harm. 
On the contrary, you may do much good.” 

Mrs. Wainright settled back in her chair and be- 
gan to speak. Just at first she tried to choose the 
most effective words. Then, carried away by the 
subject, she told the story almost as breathlessly as 
Mrs. Childers had told it. 


210 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


Senator Willard remained resolutely silent. Now 
and again the old man asked a question. 

It did not take long — that pitiful recital of a 
woman’s life. 

Eight or ten minutes. 

At the end of that time Dr. Helstan knew pretty 
well all there was to be known about the woman he 
had seen in the Cap Martin wood that afternoon. 

* * * * * * 

“ You would feel afraid to use your spade and 
watering-pot on that poor parched ground? ” The 
old man spoke softly. His eyes were shining. 
Mrs. Wainright shrugged her shoulders slightly. 

“ How could one set about it ? And then, how 
could one feel at all sure that — anything of that 
sort would be welcome? She certainly seems very 
well content with the present state of affairs, and, 
of course, she’s enormously admired.” 

“ You have never spoken to her? ” 

“ No.” She hesitated. " Mrs. Bellew doesn’t 
seem to know any women here, and that makes it 
difficult.” 

“ All her old friends walk on the other side of the 
road ? ” 

“ Well, yes — of course. It does in a way seem 
rather a shame, but — it would be impossible to 
accept women of that type in society.” 

“ Society must be guarded — of course.” Dr. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 211 


Helstan was smiling. “ And men ‘ of that type ’ — 
what about them ? ” 

“ Oh, Dr. Helstan ! You are full of charity, I 
know, but even you cannot pretend to think that 
men and women can be judged alike.” 

" My dear madam, I don't pretend to think any- 
thing of the sort. I know that they are not ‘ judged 
alike ' by the Judge who rules over us.” 

“ You mean ?” 

Mrs. Wainright looked uncertain. The old man's 
smile broadened. 

“ I think you know very well what I mean. I'm 
a staunch believer in the literal acceptation of the 
Bible, but I’ve never been able to think of Adam 
without making a wry face. ‘ The woman tempted 
me ' is such a poor sort of excuse.” 

“ But there are women who make it their busi- 
ness to tempt men?” 

“ Probably. Just as there are men who make it 
their business to tempt women. But then we brag 
a lot about being the stronger sex.” 

She was silent. A moment later Dr. Helstan 
spoke again. 

u I’ve been interested in that poor pretty 
creature. It has hurt me to see her trying to 
win money at the Casino. She doesn't look like 
a professional temptress. Her eyes are very 
beautiful — they're pathetic. Once before in my 


212 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


life I saw eyes which had very much the same ex- 
pression ” 

He stopped suddenly. Senator Willard and 
Mrs. Wainright looked at him questioningly. He 
paused. 

“ They were my wife’s eyes,” he added quietly. 


CHAPTER XIII 


“T TOTEL COTE D’AZUR, San Remo. 

ll Midnight.” 

Jack Helstan was again trying to write a letter 
to the woman he loved. 

It was a difficult letter to write. 

There was so much that must be said. So very 
much that must not be said. Many subjects to 
be avoided. Few that were quite safe. 

He sat back in his chair and leaned his hands on 
the writing-table. He felt very tired. 

Immediately after having seen Betty enter her ho- 
tel he had taken train for San Remo. It had been 
impossible for him to face his father or Senator Wil- 
lard. He had to be alone. When, after a time, he 
remembered that this was the night of the Ameri- 
can’s little dinner-party he hurried to the post office 
and sent a telegram. His conscience accused him 
when he realized that but for this engagement he 
would probably have neglected to explain his absence. 

At that moment his father’s certain anxiety lacked 
importance. 

****** 


213 


214 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

How could she do it? 

How had it all been possible ? 

So sweet — so exquisite — so, in a way, unsophis- 
ticated. Such a girl. 

And yet, there was no getting away from it, so 
experienced. 

It was extraordinary. It seemed to him abnor- 
mal — quite horrible. 

A mistake? A folly? A sin? Yes! All that 
he could understand, easily. A sin regretted, re- 
pented — finally wiped out. All that was so under- 
standable. So human. 

But this? 

It was frightful — what she had done ! Gone 
off to Cairo with a man she had loved “ more or 
less ” because, apparently, there was nothing else 
to do. 

It was unthinkable. 

Could he ever understand it — ever? 

Then he questioned himself sternly. 

Why should he try to understand. Was it nec- 
essary? Was it even advisable? 

Silently he asked the questions. The answer 
came without a second’s delay — “ Yes ! ” 

How could they live together, husband and wife, 
if there was an iron door of misunderstanding be- 
tween them? What chance of happiness would 
there be for them in such circumstances? 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 215 

He rested his head on his hands and stared down 
at the blank paper. 

Was she quite sane? Had her trouble made 
discord in her brain? Was it really possible that 
she, in a sane moment, meant what she had said 
about men and women being “pretty much the 
same ” ? 

It was a horrible thought. And yet she had ex- 
pressed it quite naturally.- 

A sound that was like a groan broke from him. 

Possibilities — certainties — crowded into his 
brain. He seized the pen. 

“ Dear — it’s useless to hesitate. The one thing 
certain in this world is that we two must be together. 
Everything else may go by — that must be a reality, 
and at once. Trust me, darling. Believe me when 
I say that I shall never speak of the past — never 
in any circumstances reproach you. We must be- 
gin life afresh — somewhere far away from those 
beasts who know. No one shall dare to annoy or 
insult my wife! Betty — leave everything to me. 
There will be difficulties, but I can find a way to 
overcome them. My father has terribly strong 
narrow views — he would surely say things that 
would wound you — I shall not tell him anything 
until it is too late for interference — until we are 
safely married. Trust me, darling — believe me, 


216 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


when I say that I shall know how to protect you. 
In a very few days — just as soon as I can arrange 
it — you will belong to me — to me only. 

“Darling — there is one thing of vital impor- 
tance. You must at once give that beast Ourman- 
sky the cut direct. At once, without a moment’s de- 
lay. Make no apology — give no explanation — 
just pass him by as if you had never seen him before. 
Betty — this is a command, and you must obey it. 
I will not allow you to speak to Ourmansky — I can- 
not allow it, for the brute has laid his devilish plans 
— he means to compromise you one way or another.” 

The pen fell from between his fingers. He sat 
quite still. 

Ourmansky ? 

She had denied it, but ? 

The fervor of passion and excitement which had 
driven his pen a moment before suddenly died. He 
felt like a man who had overtaxed his strength in 
a long race. He was done. 

The moments crept by. 

Still he sat motionless in his chair. 

There was a ceaseless knocking in his brain. A 
little insistent tap — tap — like the click of a tele- 
graphic message. The same words were repeated 
again and again. 

“ She denied it — denied it — but? ” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 217 

The shadow of a tragedy familiar to many fell 
on him. 

Intimate, married, life with some one passionately 
loved but not trusted. 

Could he really trust her — ever? 

Could she ever really trust herself? 

The hand that lay on the table was trembling. 
He felt he had come to an end of everything except 
his dogged determination to possess her — to snatch 
her away from “that Russian brute.” That had 
to happen ! After that — who could tell ? 

****** 

How long he sat there by the table he never knew. 

The little room, with its sea-green walls and 
white woodwork, grew lighter and lighter as a pale 
gold sun crept up from the shadows. A lamp 
standing on the chest of drawers burnt low. There 
was a sickly smell of oil. Jack got up slowly and 
crossed the room. He turned out the lamp and 
went to the window. 

The air was chilly, the stillness oppressive. It 
seemed to him that he was alone in a newly made 
world. No sign of anything human. No sound 
— not even the chirp of a bird. 

He was tired. It was impossible to think things 
out. Only one thing was certain — quite certain. 
She must belong to him ! 


218 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


Of what use all those beautiful romantic dreams 
of the ideal woman? 

She was ideal — in many ways. Ideally lovely 
and sweet and desirable. She obsessed him — that 
was enough. They could be deliriously happy if 
only he could blot out those hateful thoughts — sus- 
picions — imaginings. 

He must blot them out. He must ! In that and 
that alone lay happiness — for him and for her. 
He could not understand her. It seemed to him 
that never, to the end of their lives, would it be 
possible for him to understand. But he loved her 
passionately. 

That was the one thing certain. 

* * * * * * 

He took up the letter and read it through. Then 
he sat down and added — 

“ Write to me the moment you get this letter and 
say where and when I can see you — to-day. I 
shall be at the Bristol between nine and ten. 

“Jack.” 

* * * * * * 

betty's answer 

At noon a telegram arrived at the Bristol, ad- 
dressed to Monsieur John Helstan. It contained 
these words — 

“ Our terrace at three, we might go up to Turbie.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


I T was a magnificent day. 

Such an exceptionally beautiful day that 
every one seemed to have been dominated by the 
same idea. La Turbie — the mirage! 

Quite early in the afternoon crowds of people 
had arrived at the highly ornate hotel which crowns 
the heights of La Turbie. They had come en auto , 
on horseback, in carriages and by the little train 
which creeps up and up the mountain-side many 
times each day, from Monte Carlo. The wonder- 
ful mirage, so much discussed and so rarely visible, 
reflects the island of Corsica and — when visible — 
it is seen to perfection from the terrace which lies 
in front of the hotel at La Turbie. Hence, on a 
fine clear day, the upward flow of trains and car- 
riages. 

When Jack Helstan and Mrs. Bellew reached the 
mountain railway station the fever of excitement on 
the terrace was at its height. Tea-tables were hud- 
dled together on every side; and each table had its 
frame of eager men and women. 

At the entrance Betty stood still. Her quick eyes 
219 


220 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

took in the whole scene. She recognized familiar 
faces. 

Mr. Hamilton Clark was there with a party of 
men friends. Sir Henry Chaplin and — yes, there 
could be no mistake — Mrs. Ellerby and her daugh- 
ter. 

Betty’s color rose. She turned to the tall man 
at her side. 

“ What a frightful crowd ! Don’t let us attempt 
the impossible — let us stroll along the Corniche 
Road — I know the mirage by heart.” 

Jack looked down at her. His face was set and 
rather white. He also had seen Mr. Hamilton 
Clark and the Ellerbys. 

He shook his head and advanced a step or two. 
Betty, perforce, walked by his side. 

She was dressed in white from head to foot. 
A simple white linen dress, but every woman on 
the terrace recognized the costliness of that sim- 
plicity. At her waist-belt she wore a big bunch 
of Malmaison carnations, the only touch of color 
in that virginal “ creation.” Every one stared and 
whispered. Mr. Hamilton Clark screwed a monocle 
into his eye, a foppish single glass which had often 
been ridiculed by his compatriots, and tilted back 
his chair to get a better view. He attracted 
Helstan’s attention; he winked furtively. Every 
line of his laughing, rather handsome face ex- 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 221 


pressed “ Sly rascal — you haven’t lost much 
time ! ” 

Jack was filled with furious determination to se- 
cure a table in some prominent position. If a glance 
would have wrought murder the jovial American 
would have ceased to exist at the moment when he 
rose and addressed Mrs. Bellew. 

“ Chere Madame — what a piece of luck to meet 
you here — and my friend Helstan too. Pray do 
me the honor of joining our little party — there 
isn’t a vacant table in the whole place.” 

The men who composed the “ little party ” stood 
up and looked actively delighted. One of them 
Mrs. Bellew knew slightly. The others were pre- 
sented with a sort of flourish of trumpets. Jack 
Helstan did not dare to speak. He could not trust 
his temper. Just then Sir Henry Chaplin made his 
way to Mrs. Bellew’s side. 

“Very pleased to see you up here — what a 
glorious day — what a crowd! I’m just going to 
visit the Monastery with a friend from Mentone — 
won’t you take possession of our table — it’s in a 
comparatively quiet corner ? ” 

Betty looked up into the kindly old face. She 
smiled. Sir Henry glanced at her escort and she 
introduced the two men. The old man scanned 
the bronzed face which looked so disturbed. He 
held out his hand. 


222 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


“ Glad to make your acquaintance. Heard about 
you, of course — read several of your books. Tre- 
mendous celebrities — you and your father.” 

He moved in the direction of the table he had 
just vacated. Betty, with a slight salutation to 
the group of men who were eagerly staring at her, 
walked with him, Jack Helstan on the other 
side. 

When they reached the “ quiet corner ” Sir 
Henry presented his friend, a tall stern-looking 
Englishman. For a moment or two they all 
talked about the mirage which had not yet ap- 
peared. Then Sir Henry remarked that it was 
“ time to be moving.” His wrinkled face looked 
very kindly as he held Mrs. Bellew’s hand and 
pressed it. He seemed about to say something 
to her — then, suddenly, he turned to the rigid fig- 
ure in pale-gray tweed. 

“ Take good care of this little lady, Mr. Helstan 
— she’s too young and foolish to be allowed to run 
about alone ! ” 

He grasped Jack’s hand and looked straight into 
the angry eyes. He seemed to ask a question. 
For • a second there was silence. Then Jack 
said — 

“Trust me, sir — I’ll do my best.” 

Sir Henry nodded. He looked puzzled, but 
vaguely pleased. As he and his friend threaded 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 223 

their way through the crowd he glanced sharply 
at the Hamilton Clark party. The men were all 
talking eagerly : the host was laughing rather 
loudly. 

****** 

Meantime Mrs. Bellew had made a disconcerting 
discovery. The little table in the corner was quite 
close to the table at which Mrs. Ellerby and her 
daughter were entertaining some English friends. 
Betty made the discovery immediately after the 
departure of Sir Henry Chaplin and his friend, 
but Jack was insistently staring at the menu card 
and saw nothing. He was trying to regain con- 
trol of himself. 

Coming up in the crowded train he and Betty 
had talked of the weather — the scenery — any- 
thing and everything that was unimportant and un- 
natural. Just at first they had both been nervous, 
but Betty, womanlike, had quickly recovered 
self-possession. Jack, on the other hand, had 
grown more and more uncomfortable as the train 
approached La Turbie. He guessed that the 
splendor of the afternoon would attract a big crowd 
to the popular hotel, and he made up his mind to 
a certain course of action. He had had enough of 
secrecy. He was going, now and in the future, to 
make it evident that Mrs. Bellew had a protector 
who would shortly be her husband. There should 


224 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

be no more “ drifting. ,, Things might be diffi- 
cult — more than a little difficult, but that could 
not be helped. He meant to go straight ahead and 
to take Betty with him — with or without her con- 
sent. 

He told himself that he was a coward because he 
had been tempted to turn aside when he saw Mrs. 
Ellerby on the terrace. For a single second he had 
hesitated, but then he had faced the position. If 
Mrs. Ellerby knew the truth, his father would have 
to know it, at once. 

And why not? 

He was asking himself this question as he stared 
down at the little card. The answer came when 
he lifted his eyes and found himself face to face — 
only the width of two tables between them — with 
Kate Ellerby’s mother. 

The old lady was looking at him. On her cheeks 
there were two red, angry spots. Her mouth was 
pressed into a thin line. 

Jack raised his hat and bowed. He smiled rather 
unnaturally. 

Mrs. Ellerby looked straight at him. Then she 
deliberately turned away. Her action was unmis- 
takable. 

Jack flushed. Then his face grew very white. 
He rose abruptly from his seat. Betty laid her 
hand on his arm. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 225 

“ Jack ! ” Her voice was very low, but he caught 
her words. “ Don’t make a scene — I couldn’t 
bear it.” Then she laughed quite naturally and 
spoke aloud. “ Yes — please order a lemon squash 
ahd some dry biscuits — nothing else — it’s much 
too hot for tea.” 

A waiter took the order. Jack sank back into 
his seat and stared hard at the sea. He was trem- 
bling with impotent rage. With inimitable tact 
Betty kept up a run of careless talk about the non- 
arrival of the mirage — the latest Casino gossip — 
the coming Battle of Flowers at Nice, and so on. 
From time to time Jack spoke a word or two. He 
hardly knew what he was saying. 

* * * * * * 

Kate Ellerby was talking as quickly and excitedly 
as Betty herself. She was trying to seem natural 
and to force a change of conversation. The friends 
from Mentone were asking eager questions about 
Mrs. Bellew and Jack Helstan, whom they knew 
by sight. Mrs. Ellerby was answering the ques- 
tions with disconcerting clearness. She was speak- 
ing rather loudly, with intention: Kate knew this. 
The situation was becoming unbearable. 

Suddenly, inspired by love, Kate pretended that 
the unusual heat had made her feel very faint. 
She said she must go into the hotel and rest. Her 
mother, who was really attached to her, was 


226 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


terrified. A moment later the whole party rose 
and walked across the terrace towards the house. 
Betty turned and looked after them. She too 
had grown strangely white. For a moment or 
two she was silent. Then, very quietly, she 
said — 

“ What did you mean to do — that time ? ” 

“ I meant to make that infernal old woman ” 

“ Recognize me? Did you contemplate an intro- 
duction? ” 

She was smiling, but her eyes were fixed and 
hard. Jack stared at her. He said nothing. He 
felt incapable of speaking coherently. 

Betty sat and looked at him. Then she said — 

“ Suppose we leave the mirage for another day 
and stroll along the Corniche Road ? ” 

* * * * * * 

The famous road which clings to the mountain- 
side was almost deserted. Now and then a cart 
or two, filled with dull red stone, rumbled past; 
but that was all. Jack and Betty were practically 
alone on the gray-green heights where olive-trees 
lay against great rocks and where masses of dark 
green laurel filled the fertile patches in between. 
Far down below, the white Casino of Monte Carlo 
basked in the sun. Betty rested her two hands on 
a low wall and stared at it. 

“ Poor wicked old Monty ! ” she said. “ It’s a 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 227 

comfy old place. I shall be glad to be down there 
again.” 

“ Betty!” 

Jack came to her side, very close. He caught her 
hand. 

“ Betty!” 

She looked up defiantly. 

“Well? Aren’t you satisfied? Wasn’t it pretty 
conclusive — all that — on the terrace? Are you 
still anxious to discuss the ‘ possibilities ’ of the fu- 
ture — our future ? ” 

She laughed, almost rudely. Her naturally sweet 
temper had been pushed aside by bitter thoughts 
and memories. She felt so hurt and angry that 
she wanted to hurt some one — even the man she 
loved. She was sick of it all — so she told her- 
self. These self-righteous beasts — let them say 
what they pleased — think what they pleased — 
what did she care? 

Jack held her hands tightly. She struggled to 
free them, but his grasp was iron. She bit her lip. 
Her eyes were full of angry tears. 

“ What’s the good of looking at me like that ? ” 
she said. “ You know the truth as well as I do — 
what’s to be gained by pretending? You belong 
to one world. I belong to another world. There 
you are! I can’t go into your world, for the dear 


228 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


delightful people who dwell therein would kick me 
out in double quick time. You can’t come into my 
world because you don’t belong there — because you 
never could belong.” 

“ Where you belong, I belong.” 

“ No!” 

“ But yes. Absolutely and most certainly, yes. 
You think you have made the position — our 
position, very clear. Shall I tell you just where 
we stand? ‘For good or for ill I am your hus- 
band, your lover, your children, your all — to you 
I give my love, whether it be your heaven or your 
hell. It is destiny. When I first looked into your 
eyes I knew.’ That was Parnell’s creed and it is 
mine. You belong to me as I belong to you — body 
and soul.” 

Betty looked at him. How strong he was. How 
splendid. How impossible! 

She sat down on the low wall. Jack came and 
sat beside her. 

Since that vehement declaration of his creed he 
had changed. He looked calm, almost happy. His 
lips curved into a smile as he laid a brown hand on 
her knees, palm upwards. There was invitation in 
the gesture. A little white hand crept into the 
brown prison. His fingers closed gently. 

For several minutes neither spoke. Then Betty 
said — 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 229 

“ Jack ! Will you try and look at things as 
they really are? We care a lot for each other — 
that, of course — but don’t you see that it’s all 
useless? Circumstances are too strong for us. 
The situation is too difficult. It’s more than 
difficult — it’s impossible. I cannot go back to 
the days when I was a foolish little kiddy-girl 
— innocent, eager, ambitious. A vain little fool, 
but innocent. God knows that I would give twenty 
years of my life if I could wipe it all out and start 
afresh, but it’s impossible. Your love for me, my 
love for you, can do nothing to change me — 
really. I mean change me in any worldly sense. 
I think it’s horribly unfair, but there it is. And 
though it seems so unfair I suppose it’s for the 
best. It wouldn’t do for women to be free as 
men are free — at least, I suppose it wouldn’t do. 
All the same it seems hideously unfair that one 
cannot make a fresh start — ever — if one is a 
woman.” She stopped short and looked straight 
at him. Her lovely lips looked disdainful. 
“ Society with a big S must be kept in good work- 
ing order, of course. And Society says that a 
woman must either be very well behaved or very 
clever. I was neither well behaved nor clever, 
and so they kicked me out! And, Jack — when 
a woman gets kicked out she has to stay out. 
That’s an iron rule. You couldn’t pull me up — 


230 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

I don’t want to pull you down ” Again she 

stopped. Her cheeks were aflame. “ I won’t 
pull you down,” she said vehemently. “ Never — 
never” 

“ There is no need for a ‘ pull ’ either way. We 
are going to get married — at once — that’s all ! ” 

“ No!” 

“ But yes.” 

She turned and faced him. 

“Jack — what do you suggest that we should 
do after this — marriage? Wander off to a de- 
serted island and live on nuts ? Move about 
from place to place because here and there some 
one has recognized us — and talked? What about 
your father? And all your friends in London? 
And how do you suppose I should enjoy trying 
to hide from people — or trying to ‘ brazen it out ’ ? 
Look at it from every side — any side, and you’ll 
see that it’s impossible — impossible” She was 
strongly excited. The color came and went in 
her cheeks. Her eyes were hard. Jack was dis- 
mayed. 

“ Betty ! Darling — darling — don’t talk in this 
way. Do you suppose I should allow any human 
being to annoy or insult you — my wife? Do you 
think I could not protect you and shield you from 
any of these fancied dangers? ” 

“ ‘ Fancied.’ They are about the most certain 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 231 

and real ‘ dangers ’ that exist in this world. They 
are inevitable dangers. If we both lived to be 
eighty years of age the ‘ danger ’ would remain. 
Every time I said a civil word to a man some one 
would sneer and say, ‘ Oh — at her old games 

— she was the famous Mrs. Bellew — don’t you 
remember?’ If we married and had children 
your best friends would say, ‘ We hope everything 
is right — we hope they really are Helstan’s 
children.’ You are shocked? You think I am 
coarse — unwomanly ? I understand how you feel, 
but you haven’t had my experiences — you don’t 
really know what people are capable of saying 
and thinking. Why — that nice old man who 
spoke to me just now, Sir Henry Chaplin — even 
he once insulted me grossly — without meaning it 

— at least, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He came 
to see me in Paris after my boy’s — after my boy 
had passed away — and he actually asked me 
if Jim was my husband’s child? He seemed to 
think the question quite natural. Think of it — 
think of it! Because of what I’ve done — because 
I have been in a way forced to live a man’s life — 
a good-hearted old man like that found it difficult 
to believe that I could ever have been innocent. 
Oh — it’s disgusting — horrible — unjust. But it’s 
inevitable. Every friend you possess would call 
you a fool if you married me. Not one single 


232 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

woman of your acquaintance would receive me in 
her house. And your father ? ” 

There was a sob in her voice. She stared hard 
at the dusty road which lay at her feet. 

Jack sat very still. He was horrified. He 
felt bitterly ashamed when he remembered that 
he too had wondered if the little son who had 
“ passed away ” had belonged to Lancelot Belle w 
or to “ Mansergh of the Guards.” The thought — 
the doubt — had assailed him many times. He 
would never have put it into words, but he 
knew that it would have remained with him — al- 
ways. 

She was right! It was “ hideously unfair.” 

He looked at her. Hot tears were falling — one 
by one — on her clasped hands. He drew her 
towards him. They were quite alone. Very 
gently he kissed away the tears that lay on her soft 
cheeks. 

“ Betty — my Betty — won’t you believe that 
all will come right if you will accept my creed as 
the final word — ‘ for good or ill I am your hus- 
band, your lover, your children, your all — it is 
destiny ’ ? ” 

She leaned her head against his breast and was 
quite still. Then she pushed him away, lovingly. 

‘‘Jack — will you do something for me? Will 
you promise that we shall have a clear fortnight 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 233 

to think it all over? One clear fortnight without 
any meetings — or letters — or anything? ” 

“ You want me to go away for a fortnight? ” 

“ Not to go away — only not to write to me or 
speak to me, except perhaps at the Casino — now 
and then.” 

“The Casino? Never. I hate the place and 
everything connected with it. If I had my way 
you would never enter those beastly rooms 
again.” 

“Well — never mind — a fortnight will soon 
pass, and then we can try and decide something. 
I want you to promise to think and think and think 
— about everything — and every one — past and 
present.” She said the last words hurriedly. He 
caught her face in his hand and held it up so that 
he could look into her eyes. 

“ Betty — what do you mean by ‘ present ’ ? Tell 
me! The truth — the absolute truth.” 

She was silent. 

He loosed his hold on her flushed face, but his 
eyes still held hers. 

“ Tell me the truth — is it Ourmansky? In any 
sense ? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ Not in any real sense, but of course we’re good 
friends and he admires me — a good deal.” 

“ And you like him to admire you ? ” 


234 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ I have always liked people to admire me.” 
She spoke defiantly. Some of the bitter feelings 
which had possessed her on the terrace of the 
hotel had returned. She was miserable and de- 
spairing; and misery and despair had given birth 
to defiance. Jack Helstan’s face was livid. His 
burning eyes devoured her face. He looked hard, 
almost cruel. 

“ Betty ! Let us understand each other. You 
don’t wish to see me for the next fortnight — well, 
so be it. But you shall not speak to Prince Our- 
mansky during that time ! Heaven knows I 
don’t want to give you one moment of pain — 
I want you to think it all out and to come to me 
gladly — because you belong to me — as I belong 
to you. I don’t want to be exacting, but I swear 
by the God who created me that I will not allow 
you to give as much as a smile to that Russian 
brute. I cannot have it, Betty — I cannot. I am 
jealous. I confess it. I glory in it. I’m jealous 
of every one who speaks to you — I hate any living 
soul to touch you except myself. I want every 
bit of your dear precious body for my very own — 
I want all your smiles — all your sweet words — 
all your laughter. I’m jealous beyond expression, 
and I tell you there are things I could not forgive 
— I could never forgive you if after this you had 
anything to do with Ourmansky. You must give 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 235 

up his acquaintance at once and forever. You must, 
my darling — for my sake and for your own. 
Promise, sweetheart — promise ” 

She looked at him. For a second her heart 
seemed to stand still. Then she forced a smile. 

“ What a tyrant you are ! But of course I prom- 
ise — only you mustn’t expect me to be rude to 
him.” 

“ Why not come down to the Bristol ? It isn’t 
so fashionable as the Paris, but it’s much 
safer.” 

Betty burst out laughing. 

“Oh Jack — Jack! And that’s how you would 
keep our ‘ free fortnight ’ ! What a boy you are 
— just a big masterful boy!” 

He joined in the laugh. 

“ I suppose it wouldn’t quite do, but I do so hate 
your being at the Paris alone. All sorts of queer 
people stay there.” 

“ All sorts of nice people too ! That handsome 
American woman, Mrs. Wainright, for example. 
I’m sure she’s correct enough for anything. I’ve 
seen her talking to your father and to your friend 
with the white hair and green eyes.” 

“ I wish you knew Mrs. Wainright ” He 

stopped abruptly. Then went on. “ Well, never 
mind — that will be all right very soon. Mean- 
time, I’ll keep my eye on you, even if I’m not per- 


236 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

mitted to speak — or write ! I suppose I shouldn’t 
break any important rule if I sent you a flower or 
two — now and then ? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ Perhaps — I’m not sure, but I do love flowers ! ” 
Then with a quick change of manner she added, 
“ A prop os of flowers — are you going to the Battle 
of Flowers at Nice the day after to-morrow? They 
say it’s going to be very brilliant.” 

Jack looked down at her. He loved to watch 
the color coming and going in her soft cheeks. 
He adored the dark shadows cast on those 
cheeks by her long lashes. He was feeling very 
happy. 

“ Why, yes,” he said. “ I believe we are going 
— quite a lot of us. My father has never seen a 
Battle of Flowers, and Senator Willard, the man 
with the white hair and green eyes, has taken seats 
in one of the Tribunes. I wish you could come 
with us ! ” 

“ But I can’t, you see ! All the same I may 
go over alone, in a humble voiture! Will you 
throw me a flower or two if I join the proces- 
sion?” 

“ I’ll smother you in the finest violets the 
Riviera can supply ! ” 

They both laughed. Then Betty asked, rather 
sharply — 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 237 

“ What do you mean by ‘ quite a lot of us ’ ? 
Who is going in Mr. Willard’s party? ” 

For a moment Jack hesitated. Then he said, 
quickly — 

“ Mrs. Wainright and my father and, I think, 
Mrs. Ellerby and her daughter.” 

“ Ah ” 

Betty’s face changed. The mischievous smile 
vanished. 

“ The young lady who pretended to faint a lit- 
tle time ago at La Turbie, and the old lady who 
was so very, very angry with you for inviting me 
to tea ? ” 

“ Betty — darling — would you rather that I 
didn’t go with them — to Nice, I mean? I don’t 
care a straw about the affair — I was only going 
because dear old Dad said he’d like to have me 
with him.” 

“ You think I’m jealous of the young lady who 
fainted at a convenient moment?” 

“ Betty!” 

“ It would be quite reasonable, for she certainly 
means to marry you — if she can. But jealousy 
isn’t one of my faults — probably because I’m so 
conceited.” 

He looked at her. She clasped her hands to- 
gether as if in prayer. 

“If you please, Mr. John Helstan — forgive me 


238 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

— I’m sorry ! And we’ll all take part in the Bat- 
tle of Flowers. You in your Tribune — I in my 
modest voiture. It will be fun, and I shall feel free 
to pelt you with flowers even though we may not 
exchange a single word ! ” 


CHAPTER XV 


T HE following afternoon at three o’clock Dr. 

Helstan was in his room preparing to go and 
pay a visit. 

Senator Willard had taken Jack to Cannes to 
spend the day. They were not to return until 
late that evening. The old man was making his 
preparations methodically, as was his wont: never- 
theless he was a little disturbed. He was accus- 
tomed to going straight ahead when any special line 
of action seemed good to him, but this particular 
visit presented some difficulties. He arranged his 
necktie carefully and gave a final touch to his black 
coat with a hard brush. He was still a bit of a 
dandy in his own simple way. 

He was going to call on Mrs. Bellew. 

Ever since his arrival at Monte Carlo he had 
been interested in “ that pretty creature.” He 
had often watched her, quietly, at the Casino. 
He had been attracted by her joyous smile and 
lovely confiding eyes — those eyes which reminded 
him strangely of the dear eyes which he had closed 
so lovingly years and years ago. In some vague 
239 


240 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

way Mrs. Bellew reminded him of his wife, and 
for that reason, if for no other, he would have 
felt interested in her. But there were other rea- 
sons. He had been moved to anger when Mrs. 
Wainright told the story of that broken life. It 
was a crying shame. The pretty creature had been 
deserted in her hour of great need by those who 
should have protected her. She had been a great 
sinner — true. But what had the Master said about 
just such another sinner — “ He that is without sin 
among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” And 
who, if Mrs. Wainright’s story was correct, had 
been the first to “ cast a stone ” ? The miserable 
husband who had been unfaithful to her from the 
first. 

Each time Dr. Helstan thought over that story 
he was filled with anger. She had been greatly 
to blame. No doubt about that. But she had 
been so young. Inexperienced. In all probability 
fiercely tempted. It was a crying shame. The 
vehement old man felt so strongly about the action 
of Mrs. Bellew’s former friends that he had de- 
clined, and abruptly, to make the acquaintance of 
Sir Henry Chaplin when Mrs. Wainright had sug- 
gested a possible meeting. 

He had made up his mind to go himself to Mrs. 
Bellew because he knew it to be his duty to protect 
and advise any “ stray lamb ” which might come 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 241 

under his notice. But he had another reason. He 
felt he owed her a voiceless apology. He had sus- 
pected her — and his son. 

He had allowed horrible thoughts and suspicions 
to take possession of him the night that telegram 
came from San Remo. 

His after-relief had been so immense that he 
had hardly known how to bear it, but the knowl- 
edge remained with him that his son was very well 
acquainted with Mrs. Bellew and that he had con- 
cealed the fact. He felt greatly concerned about 
“ that poor pretty creature.” The friendship of a 
young man — his son, for example — could not 
benefit her. It might easily lead to misunderstand- 
ing. Jack was terribly impulsive. He was obsti- 
nate — self-opinionated. Not a safe friend for a 
beautiful, friendless woman. 

****** 

He had been quite crafty — “ foxy ” he himself 
would have said — in his choice of an hour for his 
visit. He had watched Mrs. Bellew carefully. He 
knew that as a rule she left the Casino about one 
o'clock and did not return before four. He con- 
cluded that she remained in the hotel between these 
hours. The hands of the big clock on the front of 
the Casino pointed to a quarter past three when the 
sturdy figure in black broadcloth presented itself 
at the bureau of the Hotel de Paris. 


242 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

The chef de reception looked at him in some 
surprise. Then he looked at the card which was 
handed to him when he said that Madame Bellew 
was in the hotel. The card bore Dr. Helstan’s 
printed name. Underneath there were two lines 
of small, very neat writing. “ I shall take it as 
a favor if Mrs. Bellew will grant me a short in- 
terview.” 

Something like a smile stole over the chef de 
reception's white face. He bent down to conceal 
it. Then he gave the card to a page-boy, with 
whispered instructions. 

Dr. Helstan looked unconcerned and friendly. 
The chef politely invited him to take a chair while 
he was waiting. He spoke excellent English, and 
the old man asked him several questions about the 
number of rooms in the hotel — the length of thq 
season, and so on. 

There was a considerable delay. Then the page- 
boy returned and requested the visitor to go up 
to “ the salon of Madame.” The chef de reception 
bowed low when the old clergyman gave him a 
friendly salute. He looked after the well-set fig- 
ure until it disappeared into the ascenseur. The 
smile he had been restraining broke loose. 

****** 

Betty was reading a novel when the card was 
brought to her. She stared at it in utter amaze- 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 243 

ment. The ever-ready flush flooded her cheeks. 
She felt bewildered. Angry. Very much inclined 
to send down a curt refusal. What did it mean? 
Had Jack really gone the length of speaking to his 
father about her? 

She felt unnerved. She would not see this old 
man. 

Then she remembered his kindly smile — that 
wonderful, heavenly smile. Above all she remem- 
bered Why Not f 

The little essay had meant so much to her. 

She spoke to the boy. He disappeared. 

She looked round hastily. In three, four min- 
utes Jack Helstan’s father would be in the room. 
She ran to the table and seized the picture of “ John 
Helstan, author of A Woman of To-morrow” 
She put it away in the table drawer — then drew it 
out again. No! Let it stay there. If the old man 
wondered, let him wonder. 

It was a warm afternoon. She was wearing a 
simple white cashmere dress. She had been resting ; 
her lovely hair was drawn back carelessly and fas- 
tened, low on her head, with an ornamental comb. 
She looked very girlish. 

The door opened. The old man came in. 

For a second the inquisitive page-boy lingered. 
Then the door was softly closed. 


244 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

Betty stood quite still in the middle of the room. 
She felt so nervous that she called defiance to her 
aid. Dr. Helstan stood and looked at her. Then 
he came to her side and held out his hand. 

“ It is kind of you to receive me. I am very 
grateful.” 

He was smiling. Betty stared at him. She 
did not give him her hand. She pushed forward 
an arm-chair and motioned to him to take it. He 
drew forward another for her and then sat down. 
For a moment neither spoke. Betty was keenly 
aware that Dr. Helstan’s chair faced the writing- 
table on which the portrait was standing. She 
waited for him to remark on it, but he had no such 
intention. He leaned back comfortably and smiled 
at her. 

“ I expect I’ve surprised you — this visit, I mean 
— but Fve long wished to make your acquaintance, 
and to-day I determined to pay you a visit.” 

“ You have wished to know me — why ? ” 

He was casting a spell over her. How could 
one feel angry or resentful face to face with that 
beaming personality — under the influence of that 
friendly smile ? She was very nervous, but she was 
conscious that she did not now feel resentful. Was 
he a magician, this strange old man? What was it 
that made him so different from any other person 
she had ever met? 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 245 

He leaned forward and rested his hands on his 
knees. 

“ Mrs. Bedew,” he said, “ I’m of opinion that 
it saves trouble and makes misunderstanding im- 
possible to clear decks before action. You may 
think I have no right to intrude on you in this 
way, but I hold that I have a right. We’re both 
the children of the same Father, therefore we 
aren’t strangers, and my black uniform allows me 
to set aside social conventions when necessary 
I’ve an idea — indeed, I’m quite certain — that 
you’re in need of a true friend, and I’ve come to 
offer my services. I’m an old man — an old, fairly 
experienced shepherd. It’s my business to give a 
helping hand to those who need it, and I want to 
help you — if you’ll let me.” He was looking 
straight into her amazed eyes. He saw a gleam of 
anger creeping in. He went on quickly. “ I don’t 
want to try and force your confidence. Take your 
own time, only keep me in mind. I’ve heard a 
good deal about you — I’ve heard enough to con- 
vince me that you need a real friend, and I came 
here to-day to tell you that I’d be greatly honored 
if you would make use of me.” 

“ Dr. Helstan — what do you know of me ? 
What have you heard — and from whom? ” 

“ I’ve heard a very sad story. I’m not betraying 
any special confidence when I say that it came 


246 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

straight from an old friend of yours — a woman 
who has always liked you — Mrs. Lewis Childers. 
She told a lady of my acquaintance, a Mrs. Wain- 
right, about you, and through Mrs. Wainright it 
came to me. I never encourage idle gossip, but as 
you had interested me very much I begged for par- 
ticulars.^ 

“ I do not see — I quite fail to understand how 
my life — my affairs — can concern Mrs. Wain- 
right or ” 

She stopped short. Crimson spots flamed in her 
cheeks. Her mouth was compressed into a hard 
line. 

“ Or — me ? That was what you were going to 
say, wasn’t it? Quite natural. I came here pre- 
pared for a stormy reception, but I’m not easily 
frightened. I’m a firm believer in the old saying 
‘ If you want to make friends you must show your- 
self friendly.’ Well — I want to try and show my- 
self friendly — that’s all.” 

“‘If you want to make friends ’ ” Betty 

repeated the words slowly. She was staring at him. 
“ Where did you hear that ? ” 

Dr. Helstan smiled. 

“ Seems to me I heard it in my cradle. My 
mother taught it to me almost before she taught 
me to walk.” 

“ And my father. He used to say that — he used 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 247 

to say it to me when I was a little, little girl ” 

She suddenly bent her head, but not before Dr. 
Helstan had seen the rush of tears. He reached 
forward and softly patted her shoulder. 

“ Well — well — isn’t that nice? The best pos- 
sible introduction. Now we’re good friends. Now 
we can have a chat without being disturbed by the 
lack of social conventions — eh?” 

His face was beaming, but Betty did not see it. 
Tears were falling fast. She kept her head 
down. 

Without any appearance of concern the old man 
sat back in his chair and took up, one after the 
other, some books that lay on the writing-table. 
He glanced at the titles and then laid them down 

— until he came to the last. A little book in a 
green cover, carefully mended. He started. He 
took out his glasses and hurriedly put them on. 
He looked hard at the title of the little book — 
Why Not? Then he looked at Betty. 

“Why — what have we here? My little essays 

— and pencil marks ” 

He turned over the pages eagerly. 

“ You’ve read them — these fragments ? This 
little book belongs to you, Mrs. Bellew? ” 

She looked at him suddenly. Her eyes were 
full of tears, but behind the tears there was eager- 


ness. 


248 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ You believe it? You really believe it — I mean 
Why Not?” 

He looked at her steadily. 

“ Yes,” he said. “ I believe it. I think I may 
say that I know it to be true.” 

“ How can you know ? ” 

“ Because the dear Lord Jesus has permitted me 
to rest on that beautiful knowledge.” 

“ ‘ The dear ’ — oh, yes — that’s easy to under- 
stand. You are good — a great saint — it’s natural 
that you should feel certain, but — other peo- 
ple ” 

“ My poor child — what are you saying ? I — a 
great saint? Far from it. A poor faulty sinner 
who has found the homeward path by the grace of 
God.” He paused. “ Come now — tell me all 
about it. Your father and I were one in thinking 
that one must be friendly if one wants to make 
friends. Give me a chance. Let me be your friend. 
Let me help — if I can.” 

She looked at him. Tears were streaming down 
her face. 

“ I want to see him again,” she said. “ I must. 
God was cruel — He took him away from me — but 
even God couldn’t be so cruel as to keep him from 
me — forever.” 

“Of whom are you speaking?” 

“Of my boy — little Jim.” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 249 

The kindly old face cleared. 

“ Tell me about him — tell me everything.” 

“ I loved him and they took him from me. It was 
my fault, of course, but it was cruel. And then I 
didn’t care what I did and I ran away — you know 
all about that — but I couldn’t forget my baby, and 
I kept on wanting him — always — always. And 
at last I heard that he had been very ill and that he 
had been sent to Biarritz to recover, and I disguised 
myself and went there too. And I used to watch 
him every day — playing on the sands' — such a 
splendid little fellow with brown legs and his dear 
hair cropped round his ears — every one noticed him 
and asked his name, and at last I managed to speak 
to him, but he didn’t know who I was — then. And 
he hated the governess they had sent to take care of 
him — he used to creep away and talk to me about 
her — on the sands — he used to call me * Dearie/ 
and at last — I ran away with him.” 

She stopped short. Her breath came and went 
in gasps. Dr. Helstan’s eyes were fixed on her 
flushed face. His interest was unconcealed. 

“Yes? And then ?” 

“ Then I got him down to Seville — in the south 
of Spain, you know, and we had a lovely time — 
at first. He loved me! Yes ” she spoke ve- 

hemently. “He loved me! I made him happy, 
and that was more than they could do. It was like 


250 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

Heaven, but then — he caught cold — he really had 
been very ill — and — that was the end.” 

“ He passed away from you ? ” 

“He drooped — withered — like a lovely little 
white flower. Then he died ” 

“ Then he lived.” 

The old man’s voice was resonant. It carried 
with it certain conviction. Betty caught his 
hands. 

“ You believe that? You believe that I shall see 
him again — one day ? ” 

“ I know that your boy lives. As to your seeing 
him again ” 

He looked at her gravely. She shivered. 

“ I know what you think — that I don’t deserve 
it — that God won’t let me see him again be- 
cause ” She stopped abruptly. Then she said 

defiantly, “ Since Jim went away I’ve done my best 
— I’ve been quite straight. People have said things 
about me — since then — but it isn’t true. I’ve 
done my best. I’ve made my own money — at the 
Casino.” 

A sound like a smothered groan broke from her 
listener. Her color rose. 

“Of course, you think it’s awful — gambling. 
But after all it’s honest. Much more honest than 
lots of other ways of making money. The Casino 
would win if it could. If I win I’ve a right to 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 251 

the money. It’s my own.” She seemed to breathe 
out defiance. Dr. Helstan’s eyes were very 
kindly. 

“ I see your point. I don’t sympathize with it, 
but that doesn’t matter. What matters is your 
future.” 

“My future?” She stared at him. “Who 
cares about my future? What possible future is 
there for a woman who has a past like mine? ” 

“ A meeting with your little lad is possible. 
Heaven is possible. And you ask ‘ who cares ’ ? 
Our Father cares very much. And I care.” 

“What becomes of me?” She shrugged her 
shoulders. Bright red spots flamed on her cheeks. 
She spoke defiantly. The old man looked at 
her. 

“You poor lonely girl! You doubt me — you 
even doubt our loving Father. And yet you know 
that He is taking care of your little lad? Doesn’t 
anything prompt you to try and make friends with 
Him?” 

“ ‘ Make friends ’ — with God ? ” 

“ Yes. That’s just what we all have to do if 
we want to be happy and safe. Why are you 
afraid? Do you think He doesn’t understand — 
doesn’t sympathize? Why — Our Father is just 
longing to be your friend. Longing to help you. 
He is knocking at the door of your heart even 


252 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

now — at this moment. Are you going to deny 
Him? Doesn’t the thought of your boy make you 
want to make friends with his Friend ? ” 

She uttered a little cry, then sat quite still. Dr. 
Helstan watched her. 

At last she said — 

“ You want me to repent. To say I’m sorry. 
Well — I am sorry because I’ve been stupid and 
reckless, but I don’t believe I’m sorry, except now 
and then, in the way you mean.” 

“ You are not sorry you have grieved and of- 
fended the Father who loves you ? ” 

“ I am — in a way — because I want to see Jim 
again — because I must see him. But that isn’t the 
kind of sorrow you mean.” 

The old man smiled. 

“ Come — come — we mustn’t split nice healthy 
straws. It’s a vast mistake to worry one’s con- 
science beyond decent limits. We’ve got on a great 
way already. You know that the dear Lord Jesus 
is taking care of your little lad — good care. And 
naturally you’re grateful. Well, the next step 
won’t cost much. Just talk it all out with little 
Jim’s Friend. Tell Him exactly how you feel — 
how much or how little you feel if you want to be 
very exact, but — tell Him. Blurt it all out and say 
you want to make friends.” 

The beautiful brown eyes searched his face. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 253 

“ You think I might? ” 

“ My dear, I’m sure you must — if you are ever 
to see your boy again.” 

“ Do you think ” She stopped suddenly. 

She looked strongly excited. Dr. Helstan smiled 
encouragingly. She went on — slowly — 

“ Do you think I might speak — pray — to Jesus 
Christ instead of to God? I seem to know Him 
so much better.” 

For a moment Dr. Helstan was silent. His 
whole being expressed a voiceless prayer. Slowly 
a beautiful, tender smile took possession of his 
face. 

“ Why, of course. My dear — I understand. I 
myself find it easier, very often, to speak to God 
the Son rather than God the Father. He seems 
more familiar — more friendly.” 

Betty leaned forward and timidly touched one 
of his hands. 

“ Dr. Helstan — does it matter that I don’t see 
things as you see them — at least, not now? Of 
course, I know that I’ve done wrong from the Bible 
point of view, but I don’t feel that I’ve done much 
harm, really, to any one except myself.” 

The old man pressed the timid hand. 

“ Mrs. Bellew — let me tell you one of the great- 
est and gravest of all truths. We cannot, however 


254 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

much we may wish it, sin alone. We cannot live 
alone. We cannot die alone. We form part of 
one great family, and we cannot get away from that 
family. You are my sister because God is the 
Father of us both. Your example may have an 
immense influence on me — on any one of those 
poor men and women who are at this moment 
trying to snatch away a few pounds from the Casino. 
If you are strong you will certainly help me, or 
some other sister or brother, to be strong too. If 
you are weak — if your thoughts and actions are 
wrong — you will find the brand of Satan on your 
breast, for you will be one of his workers. It is 
a fearful and solemn thought — that of the uni- 
versal family. Fearful, but wonderfully comfort- 
ing. If you owe a great deal to me, I, in turn, owe 
a great deal to you, and if we want to hold our heads 
high we must both pay up. If I don’t give you a 
helping hand when you need it, there’ll be a mark 
against me in the Great Judgment Book. If I help 
you to find the downward path, directly or indi- 
rectly — what sort of a mark will sully my name? 
My dear — you dare to say that you have not 
wronged any one but yourself ? What of your boy ? 
What of that innocent baby who drew life from 
you and who was robbed, almost at his birth, of his 
guardian-angel — of a good, pure mother? If he 
had lived — what then? ” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 255 

“ You mean — that he would have been ashamed 
of me?” 

She was sobbing. 

“ I have known cases in which young men have 
taken their lives rather than face such shame. ,, 

“ Oh ” Betty suddenly covered her face 

with her hands. “ It’s cruel — unjust. At my 
worst I was better than his father.” 

“ Possibly. Quite probably.” Dr. Helstan’s 
face showed keen distress. “ That brings us to 
the edge of a very dangerous pit. I hope you 
won’t ask me to try and fathom it — just now. It 
is one of the terrible mysteries of life — the ap- 
parent injustice which divides the sexes. I say 
* apparent ’ because the only real injustice would 
be the existence of two codes in the mind of God. 
I do not believe these two codes exist. Our Father 
is as just as He is loving — He will even the balance 
in His own good time. But remember that you 
will not be asked to account for any one’s 4 talents ’ 
but your own. Our Father gave you a little 
baby — for months you and you alone nourished 
and cared for that dear child. You brought it 
into the world. Had you the right to handicap it 
most cruelly? Had you the right to steal away 
its birthright — to leave it without that Angel of 
the House which has been, and is, the guardian 
of so many men’s lives? You need not make an 


256 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

abstract question of this mystery of the sexes. 
You need not concern yourself about the justice 
of it in this case or that. Look within. How did 
you act towards the tender life that was delivered 
into your care? What would have been the end 
if Our Father, in loving kindness, had not taken 
back His gift?” 

“ Ah — no — no — not that. Not that. It was 
not I who killed him — no — not that.” 

“ I do not say it. I have no wish to frighten you, 
but here, in the presence of Our Father, I ask you 
whether you were worthy of that dear boy? — 
What could you have done for him or with him if 
he had lived? ” 

****** 

The silence had been long. 

Dr. Helstan sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed 
on his son’s pictured face. Now and then his lips 
moved as though they were forming words. 

Betty was still sobbing. But now the sobs came 
at irregular intervals. At last she looked up. She 
followed in the track of the old man’s eyes. Her 
cheeks flamed. 

She leaned forward and touched the silver 
frame. 

“ I know your son,” she said. “ I know him 
quite well.” 

“ Yes. I am aware that you know him.” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 257 

She started violently. 

“ You know it? Jack — he spoke to you — of 
me?” 

“ No.” The old man’s voice did not betray the 
least concern. “ Jack never told me that he knew 
you. I chanced to see you together in the woods 
at Cap Martin.” 

“ You saw us? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Betty stared down at the photograph in her hand. 
Dr. Helstan sat and looked at her. After a mo- 
ment he said — 

“ Before I leave you there is just one little thing 
more that I want to say. I’m greatly concerned 
about your future. Of course you must abandon 
this idea of winning money at the Casino. No!” 
— this in answer to an eager question in her eyes. 
“ I’m not going to scold you about gambling, but 
I may just say that I do not approve of it.” He 
was smiling. “ All the same one must have 
enough for the necessaries of life, and I’ve a 
plan. I have under my control a certain sum of 

money ” He stopped short and looked at her. 

Then he went on. “ It is the interest on my wife’s 
little fortune, and you remind me of her — a little. 
You look like her. For this reason, and others, I 
wish you to use this money for a year or eighteen 


258 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

months. Pve been accustomed in my own mind 
to calling it my lame-dog fund. Well — you shall 
be my lame-dog for the next few months, and mean- 
time Fll turn things over and see what we can do 
to make things easier in the future. You needn’t 
be a bit afraid — not a living soul — not my son or 
any one else — shall know our little secret. It 
isn’t a big thing — about a hundred pounds a year, 
but it will be enough. And you must give me or 
send me an address which will always find you. 
On the first of each month the money order shall 
reach you — just until we have had time to turn 
round.” 

Betty caught his hands and held them. She could 
not speak. Then she forced back her sobs. 

“No — no ” she said. “ Not that — it’s 

impossible.” 

“ Why?” 

“Your wife’s money — you would give me that 
— and I — I know your son.” 

He looked straight at her. Her eyes were full of 
tears, but they met his fearlessly. He smiled. 

“My dear — I know that you and Jack are ac- 
quainted. And I am quite sure you would not wish 
to injure him in any way. I hope that I am equally 
sure of him.” 

He stood up and held out his hand. She took 
it. For a moment they stood face to face. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 259 

“You won't forget what you have to do?” he 
said. 

“ I’ll try. I promise.” 

He pressed her hand warmly. 

“ That’s right. And when you have made friends 
with Our Father you mustn’t forget to give me a 

chance. ‘If you want to make friends ’ you 

know. Well, all I want is to have a chance of 
showing myself friendly.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


T HE day of the first Battle of Flowers at Nice 
was superb. The sky was brilliantly blue. 
So unnaturally blue that the Mediterranean Sea 
looked, in contrast, quite green. There were flow- 
ers and garlands of leaves everywhere. Flowers. 
Flags. Banners. Striped awnings! 

Above all there were lovely women clad in 
fairy-like garments. The very latest thing from 
Paris. 

The whole length of the magnificent Promenade 
des Anglais was lined with women in summer gowns 
and flower-wreathed hats. There were many men 
too — probably thousands — but it was essentially 
the day of women. Gray tweeds and soft felt hats 
only served as an effective background for “ crea- 
tions ” in satin and muslin and lace. 

Dr. Helstan watched the restless crowd with 
unconcealed interest. Senator Willard had secured 
a row of front seats in one of the best Tribunes, 
directly opposite the awned terrace of a specially 
smart hotel. 


260 


the; impossible mrs. bellew 261 


There had been a cheery luncheon party at which 
Mrs. Ellerby had played, quite successfully, the 
part of “ wet blanket.” The old lady was in a 
dangerous mood. That morning her daughter had 
tried by every secret means in her power to induce 
her to give up the idea of “ such a tiring afternoon.” 
Kate had worked hard and loyally, but her mother 
had made up her mind to go to Nice. She had 
also, and of this poor Kate was well aware, made 
up her mind to be disagreeable. Mrs. Ellerby 
did not express her intentions in this way, naturally, 
but that was what it amounted to. She had been 
filled with an indignation which she felt to be 
amply justified ever since the afternoon at La 
Turbie. More than once she had said things about 
“ poor dear Dr. Helstan’s son ” which had made 
Kate hot all over. She had been offended — im- 
placably. 

Poor Kate ! 

The all-white costume which had meant so much 
to her had lost its charm. She was horribly 
nervous, even frightened. Her mother was “a 
darling,” of course, but ? There were mo- 

ments in her life when she found herself envying 
girls, women, who felt safe — always. She did so 
dread, hate, anything like a scene. Above all, a 
scene with Jack Helstan. Her mother was a very 
well-bred woman, that she, of course, knew. At 


262 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


the same time well-bred people have been known 
to do and say extraordinary things in certain cir- 
cumstances. 

* * * * * * 

Mrs. Wainright was sitting next to Dr. Helstan. 
Senator Willard was on her other side. Then came 
Mrs. Ellerby, Kate and Jack. A very observant 
person might have noticed that the old clergyman 
had rather hurriedly placed himself at the end of 
the row, immediately inviting Mrs. Wainright to 
sit beside him. 

The arrangement of the places might have been 
purely accidental, but it was certain that deep down 
in his heart Dr. Helstan found his old friend Mrs. 
Ellerby just a wee bit tiresome. He used to say, 
in moments of strict confidence, that he believed 
she did not quite approve of him — or of many of 
his ideas. 

Mrs. Wainright was talking gaily — pointing out 
celebrities to the old man — thoroughly enjoying 
herself. They had taken their seats early, and the 
course between the wooden fences had not been 
cleared for the carriages. 

People were walking up and down, looking at the 
lovely butterflies on the hotel terraces or searching 
for friends in the Tribunes. 

Quite suddenly some one spoke to Mrs. Wainright. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 263 

“ Delighted to see you. What a day. — Ideal — 
eh?” 

It was Sir Henry Chaplin, looking very spruce in 
a blue serge suit, white waistcoat, crimson carna- 
tion and Panama hat. His twinkling eyes took in 
the party at a glance. He spoke to Mr. Willard 
and to Jack. Then he looked at the handsome old 
man whose keen eyes were fixed on him. Mrs. 
Wainright hesitated. She looked at Dr. Helstan 
questioningly — almost imploringly. 

“May I present a very old friend?” she said. 
“ Dr. Helstan, this is Sir Henry Chaplin.” 

The old man lifted his wide-brimmed felt hat 
and bowed. He did not smile. 

Sir Henry seemed about to address a remark to 
him ; then he changed his mind and rattled off some 
gossip to Mrs. Wainright. 

“Yes — that’s Lady Granville, on Hule’s ter- 
race — Manners, of course, and — yes — Mrs. Lulu 
Childers. Pretty woman: looks well in that pink 
gown — eh ? ” 

Dr. Helstan leaned forward. 

“ Which of those ladies is Mrs. Childers ? ” 

Sir Henry turned to him quickly. 

“ She’s sitting there to the right, sir — close to 
the blonde lady in white — that’s Lady Granville. 
You know Mrs. Childers, Dr. Helstan? Charming 
little woman — most amusing.” 


264 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ I have heard of her.” 

Dr. Helstan was looking steadily at Mrs. Childers’ 
animated face. Something in his gaze seemed to 
attract her. She looked across — bowed — waved 
her hand. Mrs. Wainright waved in return. Just 
then an Englishman, a friend of Sir Henry, strolled 
by. He turned — raised his hat — spoke carelessly 
to his friend. 

“ Gay scene, this — awfully pretty women, some 
of them — hard to beat as a show ” 

Sir Henry acquiesced. Mrs. Wainright was talk- 
ing eagerly to Dr. Helstan. Sir Henry moved 
away a few paces. He and his companion ex- 
changed remarks about their friends and acquaint- 
ances on the hotel terrace. Suddenly the English- 
man spoke excitedly. 

“By Jove — the plot thickens. Princess Our- 
mansky ! ” 

He put up his single glass and stared hard at a 
tall, very slender woman who was just moving to 
her seat in the middle of the terrace. She was sur- 
rounded by men and women who seemed to hang 
on her words, but she hardly noticed them. Her 
great black eyes looked weary. She sank into a 
chair, leaned her arms on the stone balustrade, 
and stared at the moving crowd. She was dressed 
entirely in black lace, and though the day was very 
warm she had a magnificent sable scarf thrown 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 265 

over her shoulders. Sir Henry was asking eager 
questions. 

Directly behind him Jack Helstan was listening 
— eagerly — consciously. 

“ In mourning. Lost her only son — awful blow, 
they say — won’t divorce that brute because she’s 
tremendously religious — they say she’s in love with 
him still.” 

“ God bless my soul ! ” 

Sir Henry Chaplin looked at the dark-eyed woman 
with unconcealed interest. “ He’s a regular bad 
hat — what can the women find in him to like ? ” 

His friend said something in rather a loud voice. 
Sir Henry caught his arm and pressed it. Then he 
turned to Mrs. Wainright. 

“ I see they’re beginning to clear the course — 
I’ll say au revoir.” He bowed very respectfully to 
Dr. Helstan and waved his hand to Jack. His 
friend was staring at the somewhat incongruous 
party in the front row of that particular Tribune. 
He was wondering why he had been silenced so 
abruptly. As the two men walked away together 
their heads were close together. It was evident 
that Sir Henry was explaining something. 

Jack Helstan looked after them. He was very 
white. 

Kate spoke to him — more than once. He did 
not hear. She, too, was white and tired-looking. 


266 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


She busied herself with the little bouquets of flow- 
ers which were packed into a basket on her lap. 

Mrs. Wainright leaned forward and spoke to her. 
“ What has happened to that basket of magnifi- 
cent violets Mr. Helstan bought? I hope it has not 
been brushed away by those dear eager persons who 
find so much difficulty in arranging themselves in 
their seats ! ” 

Kate shook her head. 

“ It’s all right,” she said. She glanced towards 
Jack Helstan. He was just then lifting from the 
ground a basket of superb violets. It was quite 
evident that he, in his own mind, separated them 
from all the other flowers with which they had 
provided themselves. Kate felt her color rising. 
She looked down. Her mother looked sharply at 
Jack, then fixed her eyes on the opposite terrace. 
Except the most ordinary exchange of greetings 
she had not addressed a single word to Dr. Hel- 
stan’s son that day. 

****** 

Jack was trying hard to control himself. 

The mention of that hated name — Ourmansky. 
It had made him furious. He took himself to task. 
He was wrong — unfair — unjust. It was not her 
fault. She had nothing to do with the woman of 
the tragic eyes who bore that hated name. She 
had nothing to do with the man. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 267 

He told himself that he must learn to control his 
feelings. Otherwise — she would find him “im- 
possible.” 

The black mood passed. He smiled secretly as 
his fingers touched the lovely purple flowers. 

The basket was large ! It held many, very many, 
fragrant bouquets. 

****** 

There was a sound of trumpets in the distance. 
Every one leaned forward and arranged their 
baskets of flowers in the most convenient position. 
Vendors of roses and mimosa ran down the course, 
which was now nearly clear, eagerly offering their 
wares. A wave of excitement swept through the 
air. 

Slowly, with due dignity, the first carriage came 
in view. There were shouts all down the long line. 
Flowers were tossed to and fro. The street began 
to look gay with its floral carpet of red and yellow 
and half-a-dozen other colors. 

The carriage approached. It had been trans- 
formed into a huge shell covered with mimosa, and 
it was filled with eager children. As it crept by a 
great shout rose from the yellow heart of the shell, 
and a dozen eager, brown hands flung roses at Dr. 
Helstan ! They were South American children who 
were staying at the Hotel Bristol. 

Just at first the old man was bewildered. He had 


268 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


never seen anything of the kind before. He did not 
know what to do. But Mrs. Wainright filled his 
hand with roses. 

“ Throw them ! ” she said eagerly. “ Look — the 
little darlings — how lovely they are in their white 
and yellow costumes. Oh, do pelt them, Dr. Hel- 
stan — they’ll be so disappointed if you don’t.” 

The old man obeyed. He quickly entered into 
the fun. 

The people on the opposite terrace watched the 
scene with undisguised interest. The old clergy- 
man was a well-known figure at Monte Carlo. 

The carriage paused a moment in front of the 
Tribune. He rose to his feet in his excitement. 
The children shouted and laughed. Even when the 
carriage moved on they leaned over the back and 
pelted their old friend. He sank back, breathless. 
Mrs. Wainright was enchanted. 

“ Now you’re blooded,” she said. “ You must 
keep it up. The Senator has an immense reserve 
stock of flowers under the seat. Don’t be afraid 
to pelt every one who attracts you ! ” 

* * * * * * 

Some of the carriages were works of art. Can- 
opies — tents — shells — huge baskets. All, all, 
covered with the most exquisite flowers. Several 
families from the Bristol passed, and each time a 
familiar face came in view the old man, obedient to 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 269 


instructions, pelted his best. One party of pretty 
girls in blue and white made a tremendous set at 
Jack. He had taken very little part in the gay 
scene, but this time it was necessary for him to de- 
fend himself. He stood up and literally rained 
roses and mimosa on the laughing beauties. It was 
such a vigorous battle that the other people in the 
Tribune stood up to get a better view. 

Dr. Helstan cheered on his son. 

“ That’s right, Jack — now is the moment — don’t 
spare the flowers — we’ve lots more ! ” 

The Senator and Mrs. Wainright were radiant 
with delight. The old man’s beaming face was 
beautiful. 

The laughing girls passed on. Jack took off his 
hat and fanned himself with it. It had been hard 
work. 

The exciting fight had brushed aside his dark 
thoughts. He was looking happy and particularly 
handsome. 

Mrs. Wainright turned and said something to the 
old man. He nodded. 

“ Yes. He’s a fine fellow. I’m afraid I’m rather 
proud of him.” 

There was a pause. Something had gone wrong 
in the procession and there was a delay. Senator 
Willard took the opportunity to replenish the 
flower baskets. Even Mrs. Ellerby had been 


270 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

induced to fire a few floral shots. Her basket had 
to be filled up as well as the rest. Far down the 
course there was a continued roar — a sound of 
many voices. Every one leaned forward and 
tried to see what was happening. The Senator 
stood up. 

“ I think it must be some specially gorgeous car- 
riage, n he said. “ They seem shouting louder than 
ever. Let us get ready in good time. ,, He was 
speaking to Jack. The latter nodded and filled his 
hands with flowers. Kate and Mrs. Wainright did 
the same. The old man, who was feeling a little 
tired, leaned back in his seat. 

The shouting grew louder and louder. Jack 
leaned well forward to catch the first glimpse of 
the coming carriage. He drew back when he saw 
that it was something specially magnificent. 

Several rather ordinary carriages went by slowly. 
Then there was a sharp trampling of horses’ hoofs. 
The shouts of applause became deafening. 

“ How extraordinary ! ” 

It was Mrs. Wainright who spoke. She motioned 
to Dr. Helstan to lean well forward so that he might 
have a good view. 

“ Isn’t it superb? ” 

The victorious carriage drew near. It was drawn 
by three black horses abreast, in Russian fashion, 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 271 

and the driver was a huge Cossack wrapped in furs 
and wearing a black fox turban. The carriage was 
high and open. It was literally covered with scar- 
let japonica blossoms. The magnificent blaze of 
color was dazzling. The restive horses pranced and 
swerved. The Cossack held them in purposely. A 
brilliant sun made the splendid silver harness gleam 
and glitter. 

Jack Helstan stood up. His face was white. 
He stared at the carriage — at the woman who was 
leaning back against a mass of scarlet satin cushions. 

It was Betty Bellew. 

She was dressed in pure white from head to foot. 
White satin — white lace — soft white ermine. 

She looked extraordinary. So beautiful that she 
hardly seemed human. There was a flood of color 
in her cheeks — her eyes blazed with excitement — 
the white of her ermine cap made her hair seem like 
living gold. 

She sat quite still — like an idol on its throne. 

In her hands she held a silver basket filled with 
gardenias. Now and then, mechanically, she threw 
a flower on this side or that. 

As the carriage reached the Tribune the horses 
were suddenly pulled up. Further down the line 
there was a delay. For a moment the procession 
was at a standstill. 


272 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

Ourmansky touched Betty’s arm and spoke. He 
looked at Jack Helstan — then he laughed outright 
The flush on Betty’s face deepened. She looked 
down. 

Jack leaned over the rail of the Tribune and 
stared at her. In his hands he held the great basket 
of violets. 

As the carriage began to move on he flung the 
flowers on the ground. They lay there and made 
a great purple stain. 

Betty looked at them. She said something — 
some inarticulate words. The frantic horses 
bounded on. 

For a moment no one in that front row of seats 
spoke. 

They seemed hypnotized. 

A curious sound was cutting the air. The sound 
of determined, implacable hissing. 

The Russian carriage was passing Hule’s Hotel. 
The horrible sound came from there. 

* * * * * * 

Senator Willard took off his hat and passed his 
hand across his forehead. He was horrified. 

Only the day before, at Cannes, he had received 
a confidence. He had been told an amazing, dis- 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 273 

concerting secret — which was not long to remain 
a secret. He had been sympathetic. At least he 
had tried hard to say the right thing. But he had 
passed a sleepless night. 

How could it end ? 

That dear splendid old man ? 

Mrs. Bellew? 

He had been amazed, but all that morning he had 
been blaming himself for his narrow views. 

After all — why not ? 

If all that he had heard of her was true — even 
half of it, she must have a good heart — a sweet 
nature. 

There would be difficulties, of course. Frightful 
difficulties. But if she really loved Jack Helstan! 
Well — the finest of all bridges, where the river of 
difficulty is concerned, is love. 

He tried hard to be hopeful. And now? 

3|c H 6 H* 3k 

Mrs. Wainright turned to Dr. Helstan. She 
spoke to him. Just at first he did not seem to hear. 
She looked at Mr. Willard. Then she again turned 
to the old man. 

“ You look tired,” she said. “ Don't you think 
we might go — now ? ” 

Dr. Helstan looked at her. 
quiet. 


He was strangely 


274 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ Yes/’ he said. “ I think we might go now — 
we have seen enough/' 

He stood up. For a second he rested his hand 
heavily on the rail of the Tribune. Then he looked 
round for his son. 

But Jack's seat was empty. 


CHAPTER XVII 


B ETTY went back to Monte Carlo in a hired 
automobile which she had found near the sta- 
tion at Nice. She had left Ourmansky suddenly, 
the moment the gorgeous japonica carriage reached 
the end of the Promenade des Anglais. He had 
been very angry. Amazed, violent questions had 
followed each other rapidly, but she had refused 
to speak. Then, seeing that she was really looking 
very ill, he ceased to question her. There was an 
ugly sneer on his face as he, too, left the decorated 
carriage and gave some directions to the coachman, 
one of his most faithful servants. He went to one 
of his clubs and ordered a bottle of brandy to be 
brought to him. He was a man of curious habits. 
At times he drank heavily. At times he drank 
nothing but mineral waters. He was the master of 
his vices. 

When Betty reached the Hotel de Paris she went 
straight to her bedroom. Marie was there. Betty 
pushed the girl from the room and locked the door. 
275 


276 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

There was violence in her face and in her move- 
ments. For several minutes the servant stood still 
outside the door — listening. She was frightened. 
Finally, she crept away and entered into conversa- 
tion with “ Monsieur Pierre.” 

****** 

For a long time Betty stood still in the middle 
of the room. Her hands were clenched. She was 
trembling. Then, gradually, everything seemed to 
grow very dim. She stretched out her hands — 
groping for a chair. She touched the slanting back 
of a couch just as she stumbled and fell for- 
ward. 

The minutes passed. Half-an-hour — nearly an 
hour. Still she lay motionless, huddled up on the 
low couch. On entering the room she had flung 
off her ermine cap and scarf. They looked like a 
little heap of snow on the rich red carpet. The room 
was in shadow, but a gleam of light from a street 
lamp threw strange silhouettes against one of the 
white walls. 

Betty moved. She opened her eyes. For quite 
a long time she stared at the dancing figures on 
the wall. She raised her hands and pressed them 
against her eyes. 

Where was she? 

What had happened ? 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 277 

Slowly, with horrible sluggish precision, memory 
awoke. 

It all came back to her. 

The shouts — the hisses — the stern question in 
the old man’s eyes. The dear, heavenly old 
man. 

A curious trembling movement shook her. She 
buried her face in the cushions. 

Jack! 

That horrible purple stain, which had seemed to 
creep closer — closer to the carriage wheels. 

An indelible stain. Not like the stain of blood, 
which might after much agony be washed away. 
That great purple stain would remain forever. 

She was sobbing feebly. She was so tired — so 
desperately tired. 

The night before she had not slept. All through 
the long still hours she had been wide awake — 
thinking. 

The days when she had been a happy girl. Her 
married life. 

Her successes — the men who had admired her. 

The end. 

It had killed her father — the disappointment and 
disgrace. She, in some cruel, unthinkable way had 
killed her baby — darling little Jim. 

Yes. She had killed her darling — at least, she 
had been the cause of his death. People had said 


278 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

that. She realized at last that it might be true. 
That it was true. She who had so loved life had 
caused death to come to those she most dearly 
loved. Gerry Mansergh. Her father. Jim! All 
— all — because of her — through her. 

She clenched her hands tight. What had he 
said — that dear old man ? “ The greatest and 

gravest of all truths — we cannot live alone — we 
cannot sin alone — we cannot get away from the 
family ! ” 

“ We cannot live alone — we cannot sin alone.” 

She repeated the words. Again and again she 
repeated them, as if she wanted to commit them 
to memory. “ We cannot sin alone.’’ 

She had sinned — fearfully. 

Her sin had killed life in those she loved. Who 
would be her next victim? 

Jack? 

With impotent hands she beat against the cush- 
ions. 

That — never . 

For that would mean a double murder. The 
sweetest, kindest old man she had ever known — 
except her father. 

The man she loved. 

Memory was wide awake at last. She could 
think clearly. The long, sleepless night had borne 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 279 

fruit. She had determined to disgust Jack Helstan 
— to make him hate her — and she had done it. 

At least, she had disgusted him. But — did he 
really hate her — even now ? 

That purple stain of violets had shown his anger 
and disappointment, but the look in his eyes? 

She knew, only too well, that look of mad desire, 
that look of fierce determination to gain possession 
of the coveted object. She knew what it meant. 

And could she trust herself? 

Her whole body seemed wrapped in flame. 

She loved him. Ah — dear God — how she 
loved him! 

And he loved her — still. 

He was furious. 

He would stay — write — terrible things. But 
he would not go away. He would not give her up. 

She had disgusted him, but that was not enough. 
Not enough, if she really meant to save the old 
man’s happiness — even his life. 

What she had done was not enough. 

That was the thought which echoed in her 
brain. 

Not enough — not enough. 
****** 

She got up from the sofa. How desperately 
tired she felt. 


280 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


She crossed the room and came to the writing- 
table. She sank heavily into a chair. Leaning for- 
ward, she took Jack Helstan’s photograph in both 
hands and stared at it. His eyes smiled at her. 
His lips seemed to move. Passionately she pressed 
the pictured face to her lips. She laid her burning 
cheek against it. 

“ I love you,” she whispered. “ I love you — I 
want with all my heart and soul to be with you — 
always.” 

She closed her eyes and sat there — her cheek 
pressed against his cheek — quite a long time. The 
shaded reading-lamp cast a soft light on the table. 
It seemed to rest with insistence on a great bowl of 
violets. 

Betty looked up. She saw the purple light — 
what looked like a purple stain. She uttered a 
cry 

No! No! 

Never. 

The truth — what was it ? 

She could not trust herself. She could not trust 
him. 

If he wanted her — really wanted her — she could 
not refuse. 

And he would want her still. 
***** * 

She was staring at the photograph. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 281 


“ Still !” 

The word began to haunt her brain. 

She had not done enough. There was still some- 
thing for her to do. She could make anything — 
everything — impossible. She had the power to do 
it if she had the courage — and the will. 

How tired she felt. It seemed a long time since 
she had slept, since she had eaten anything. 

She was so tired that she seemed in a land of 
dreams. Her head fell forward on her arms. 

The darling old man had said “ Why not ? ” 

It had been in answer to her fearful question: 
“Can I hope to see little Jim again ?” The old 
man believed that there was another life — up there 
in the skies — where little Jim was “ living.” He 
had said that. He believed that. And he had 
spoken of sacrifice. Of “ making friends ” — with 
God. 

He had said that God — or at least the Lord Jesus 
Christ — would “ understand.” 

She raised her head. 

If she really saved Jack, God would “ under- 
stand.” He would know why she had done — what 
she meant to do. He would understand. Dr. Hel- 
stan would understand — for she was going to write 
to him. But Jack would never, never under- 
stand. 


282 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


That was her sacrifice. The only sacrifice that 
would be of any use. 

Jack would never, never understand. All his 
life he would hate her, hate himself for ever hav- 
ing loved her. 

* * * * * 

Hours later Betty was writing a letter. A long 
letter. She had had a strange scene with Marie, 
her maid. She had summoned the girl to her room. 
Behind locked doors there had been a momentous 
interview. 

Marie had been frightened. She had protested 
vehemently. Then something of the dramatic spirit 
of other days had come to her aid. She had con- 
sented to a wonderful, terrible proposal. Money, 
a considerable sum, had passed from hand to hand. 
Marie had delivered a note, short and brilliant, to 
the servant who kept guard at the door of the Our- 
mansky suite. She had handed in the letter and 
then fled — overcome by terror. 

When she came back to her employer’s room she 
again protested, but Betty had silenced her. In the 
end Marie agreed to everything. She was still 
frightened, but, like all true Parisiennes, she was a 
born actress. She loved anything that savored of 
the theater. 

****** 

Betty was writing a long letter. It was diffi- 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 283 

cult. Again and again she put down her pen and 
sat quite still. 

Could she go on with it? 

Could she ? 

And then she knew that she must go right on. 

It was the only way out. 

The letter was finished at last. 

She put it into an envelope without reading it 
over. Perhaps if she read it she might not have 
the courage to send it. She laid it down. Her 
hand touched the silver frame. A rush of color 
mounted to her white face. Her eyes filled. 

“Jack! Oh — Jack — my darling — my dar- 
ling!" 

Again — again she kissed the picture — passion- 
ately — violently. She pressed it against her heart. 
She whispered to it as lovers whisper to each other 
in the shadows — when they are quite alone. 

Tears fell fast. They lay against the glass of 
the frame. She brushed them aside, but they fell 
again. The glass was dim, but what did it matter ? 
Very soon there would be no dear face behind it. 
Very soon the silver frame would be empty. 

* * * * * * 

There were silver streaks in the sky. The read- 
ing-lamp still burned bright, but the purple shadow 
on the violet bowl seemed fainter. 


284 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

The room was quite still. 

Betty’s arms were stretched out across the table. 
She was unconscious. 

An addressed envelope had fallen to the ground. 
One of her hands held some torn scraps of pictured 
paper. 

The silver frame was empty. 


CHAPTER XVIII 



iHE following night, late, Dr. Helstan was sit- 


X ting alone in his room, reading a letter. The 
writing was pretty and intensely feminine, with a 
quaint little dash on each “ t ” and a flourish at the 
end of each sentence. The paper was large and 
square. It was stamped in silver with an entangled 
monogram — “ B.B.” 

* * * * * * 

He laid the letter down on his knee, took off his 
glasses and wiped them with his silk handkerchief. 
Then he wiped his eyes and sat very still. 

For a long time he remained motionless. His 
eyes were fixed on space: but not empty space. 
He was seeing visions. He was listening to a 
musical voice. He was in a gay room decked with 
flowers; a picture of his son stood on the table 
before him; the “poor pretty creature ” was close 
by. 

The letter was from her. 

It was long. Amazing. Terrible. 

He had hardly had time to realize its full mean- 
ing, but he knew that it was magnificent. 

» 5|C * Sft 5ft * * 


285 


286 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


He pressed his handkerchief against his eyes. 
Then he resolutely put it back into his pocket and 
began to read the letter again. 

“ . . . you will forgive me. You will under- 
stand. It’s the only way — absolutely the only 
way to save him. You are so clever, you know so 
many things, but I don’t think you quite know 
him — I don’t think you understand how easily 
things, dreadful things, happen when two people 
love each other. And we do. That’s the truth 
that you haven’t realized — you could not realize 
it. We love each other, and he has never had any 
thought that was not the best — the most noble. 
Just at first he did not know about me. But when 
he did know — when I told him — he wanted to 
marry me all the same. He never once thought of 
anything else. And it is impossible. Even you 
could not see that more plainly than I do. It’s 
impossible. That’s why I’m going to cut myself 
adrift from him — forever. There’s no other way.- 
Believe me when I say this. I know! Of course 
he was angry about the battle of flowers. He was 
disgusted and furious, but he wrote to me that very 
night. Such a dear angry letter. He hated what 
I had done, but he didn’t hate me. And I did it 
because I thought it would make him hate me. 
You understand, don’t you? Dear Dr. Helstan, 
you understand? I know now that you were right 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 287 

when you said we cannot sin alone — even live alone. 
If we do wrong we have to injure some one. It’s 
an awful thought, but I know that it’s true. And 
I have done so much wrong. I have hurt so many 
people — even my baby. You see why I must 
pull up. I dare not do any more harm — such 
dreadful harm. I’ve thought it all out, and I 
know that there’s only one way. I’m going to 
take it. To-morrow morning every one in Monte 
Carlo will hear that I have gone to Italy with 
Prince Ourmansky — gone to his villa at Rome. 
All the newspapers will talk of it — he will hear 
it — at once. And he will never forgive. It’s the 
one thing beyond his forgiveness — quite beyond it. 

“ Dr. Helstan — believe me when I say that it’s 
the only way out. Jack loves me — I love him. 
We might vex and hurt each other most terribly, 
but he would come to me — I should go to him — 
in the end — if it were possible. But after this 
it will be impossible. Impossible. You under- 
stand? Surely you must understand? I cannot 
tell you what I really feel about Jack — I can’t talk 
about him much — just as I can’t talk about my 
baby. When you love something very much you 
can’t talk about it — at least not much. I’m doing 
what must seem to you frightful, but it’s because I 
must make something far more frightful impossible. 
You understand? 


288 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 


“ Dear Dr. Helstan, you have been so kind to me. 
No one except my father has ever been so kind. I 
thank you from my heart. And Pm going to try 
and 4 make friends ’ — you know what I mean. I 
have told Him everything — everything. Far more 
than I dare tell you. And I mean to go on trying. 

“ I am not really going to Italy — that, of course, 
you have already understood. It sounds a theatri- 
cal plan, but Fve been able to arrange it quite 
well. Marie, my maid, is rather like me. Wrapped 
up for motoring no one would know the difference. 
Of course, Prince Ourmansky will find out the 
truth before he goes very far, but he will never 
tell. He is too vain. And Marie will be all right. 
IVe given her plenty of money, and she’ll go back 
to her family until she gets another place. It’s 
theatrical, but my life has always been theatrical. 
And it’s the only way. Ourmansky made a big 
bet, I know he did, that I would leave Monte Carlo 
with him. Well, he will win that bet. And he 
will never tell the truth. You see? It’s all quite 
easy and it’s certain. The only certain way out. 
Jack must be saved. If he married me it would 

ruin him. If he did not marry me ? You 

see? Something had to be done. I had to cut my- 
self adrift because I couldn’t trust myself. That’s 
the truth. I couldn’t trust myself. Because I love 
him too much. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 289 

“ Dear Dr. Helstan, I shall never forget what 
you said about that money. I love to think of 
it — because you said it was money which belonged 
to Jack’s mother. It was such a beautiful thought 
— thank you — thank you. But it isn’t necessary. 
When this letter reaches you I shall be on my 
way to Paris. I’m going straight to a little pension 
in the rue Balzac — the Villa Leon. It belongs to 
a dear old woman who used to be my mother’s 
housekeeper. She loves me. She will arrange 
something for me. I shall be quite safe with her. 
Don’t write to me. Don’t send me any money — 
please. I shall not need it. But some day — in 
three or four years — when he is happy and things 
are settled — perhaps I shall see you again? I 
shall want to see you, for you have been so good 
to me. I shall never forget you. Never. You 
are such good friends with God, will you tell Him 
about me — ask Him to understand? Good-by. 
Thank you again and again. From my heart — 
thank you. 

“ Betty Bellew.” 

* * * * * * 

The white sheets of paper were wet with tears. 
The old man had forgotten to wipe his eyes. He 
was shaken. 

Never since the day when he had stood and 
looked down into the dark, hideous hole which held 


290 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

his wife’s coffin had he felt so shaken. He was 
trembling. 

As he leaned back and closed his eyes he seemed 
again to see that dark hole in the earth. Some 
one had thrown flowers on the coffin, but the flowers 
had not hidden it. 

She was down there — his darling. The Angel 
of his House. The dear companion and friend for 
whom he had waited and worked through many 
years and then enjoyed, in full, such a cruelly short 
time. 

He remembered that he had tried hard to realize 
that she was not really down there — that she was 
safe and happy in the presence of her loving Fa- 
ther in Heaven. He had tried so hard, but he 
had not succeeded — for a long time. And it was 
his baby’s fingers which had helped him to succeed. 
Jack’s little chubby fingers twisted aimlessly round 
his strong hands. Jack’s helpless cry — his need 
for constant care. His darling wife had given her 
life in exchange for the life of her baby. And 
now ? 

He pressed his hands against his eyes. Then he 
took up the letter and stared at it. 

The little pitiful postscript. 

“ I think it will come right — after a little time. 
I think he will marry Miss Ellerby. I think so. 
I’m almost sure.” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 291 

“ Greater love hath no man than this, that a man 
lay down his life for his friends.” 

****** 

The familiar words seemed to take form before 
his eyes. “ Lay down his life.” What did that 
mean, “his life”? That which was vital. "That 
which had inestimable value. That which could not 
be replaced. 

The loose sheets of paper fell from his hands. 
He sat quite still. He had preached from that text 
— very often. He loved it. But had he ever lived 
it, until now? 

Poor sinful child — it was her “life.” Never 
for a moment did it occur to him to doubt her love 
for the man she was determined to “ save.” There 
was sincerity in her letter. There was sincerity in 
her heart. 

She had sinned desperately, but she was trying 
to “ make friends ” with her Father. 

The old man felt certain that already she had 
succeeded in “ making friends.” 

She had been sorely tempted. She had been 
weak — sinful. But she had come back humbly 
to the foot of the Cross. She had deliberately 
made the great sacrifice. She had given her 
“ life.” 

****** 

Every night before going to bed Dr. Helstan 


292 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

had a habit of reciting, softly, the great Love Chap- 
ter. The thirteenth chapter of ist Corinthians. 

His lips — they were still trembling — moved. 
The well-known words formed themselves uncon- 
sciously. “ . . . Beareth all things, believeth all 
things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. . . . 
For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then 
face to face . . . but the greatest of these is char- 
ity” 

“ The greatest of these ? ” 

He sighed heavily. 

The way of the Christ was difficult. 

He had always known that. Now he realized it. 

The dying Christ on the Cross had found it easy 
to say, “ To-day shalt thou be with Me in paradise.” 
The dying thief repented, and that was the verdict 
of the Christ. 

“To-day!” Everything washed out. Every- 
thing forgiven — in a single moment. 

He rose from his chair, supporting himself 
against the wooden back. He felt very weary 
and old. 

For quite a long time he stood and looked into 
space. 

Then he walked slowly across the room and knelt 
down by his bed. 


CHAPTER XIX 


M ONTE CARLO was quivering with delicious 
excitement. 

It had been a dull season. No colossal wins. No 
suicides worth speaking of in the newspapers. 
Magnificent weather — yes. But then the weather 
at Monte Carlo is always magnificent! 

Over the petit dejeuner — in the Place — in the 
cue of eager gamblers waiting for the Casino doors 
to open, one subject and one only was discussed. 
The departure of Prince Ourmansky and Mrs. Bel- 
lew, together! “ En route for the Villa Ourman- 
sky, Rome ! ” 

Every one said that of course it was inevitable. 
“ Certain to happen.” Nevertheless, some people, 
quite a good many, were surprised. 

When Mrs. Childers read the news in a single 
page gazette, brought to her in triumph by Lady 
Granville, she said violent things. Then, suddenly, 
she pushed her friend out of the room and burst 
into tears. 

When Sir Henry Chaplin read the news he had 
a bad moment. There was no special reason why 
293 


294 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

he should be surprised, that he told himself : and 
yet he was surprised. He was horrified. Curi- 
ously, bitterly disappointed. 

He had built up a nice little edifice of hopes, 
founded on a certain dependable look in dark eyes 
which had met his so frankly on- the terrace at La 
Turbie. “It would hardly have done” — he knew 
that. All the same the son of such a well-known 
man as Dr. Helstan might have ventured, if he had 
really been seriously disposed. “ It was the deuce 
of a pity for pretty little Betty to pick up a brute 
like Ourmansky — at the end.” 

It was Senator Willard who brought the news 
to Jack. He did not try to “ break ” it. He just 
stated the fact that Mrs. Bellew had left Monte 
Carlo with Prince Ourmansky — the previous eve- 
ning. That they had left en auto. 

He and Jack were standing together on the 
Boulevard in front of the Hotel Bristol when he 
made the announcement. He tried to speak 
calmly, but he knew that his voice was unnatural. 
He leaned over the wall and stared down at the 
beach. 

* * * * * * 

For a long time there was silence. 

Jack Helstan stood with the newspaper in his 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 295 

hands. He had read the malicious insolent words 
again — and then again. They were stamped on 
his brain. “ A modern romance — a fairy Prince 
— captured Beauty — an automobile filled with 
flowers, etc., etc.” And then came a florid descrip- 
tion of the Villa Ourmansky, at Rome — the gor- 
geous home of a man of boundless wealth. 

He held the paper in his hands and stared at 
it. 

Then, after a long time, he crumpled it up and 
flung it into the road. He turned and walked 
quickly up the hill towards the Casino. 

Mr. Willard followed. 

When they came to the already crowded Place 
du Casino Jack Helstan went straight to the Hotel 
de Paris. He mounted the steps, entered and asked 
at the bureau for Mrs. Bellew. 

The chef de reception looked at him. He smiled. 
With perfect courtesy he said, “ Madame Bellew has 
left the hotel.” 

Something in the dark set face made Senator 
Willard lay his hand on his friend’s arm. It was 
a warning touch. Jack looked at him. Then 
he turned again to the smiling man in the 
bureau. 

“ Kindly give me Mrs. Bellew’s address.” 

The man looked down. He hesitated. Then his 


296 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

smile deepened. He wrote some words on a card 
and handed it to Jack. 

“ This is the only address we have, Monsieur.” 

On the card was written — 

“ Madame Bellew, 

Villa Ourmansky, 

Rome.” 

****** 

They were back on the Boulevard de la Conda- 
mine. 

Quietly, but with determination, Mr. Willard 
had led the way. Neither of the men had ex- 
changed a single word as they walked down the 
hill. But when they again stood by the low wall 
which frames the bay the American said, very 
quietly — 

“ Fm afraid it was inevitable.” 

Jack looked at him. 

“You think she loves that beast?” 

Mr. Willard was silent. Then at last he said — 

“ He is enormously rich.” 

“ Yes.” 

Jack Helstan thrust his hands into his pockets 
and stared at the ripples of brilliant light on the 
water. He looked like a man who had received a 
death blow, but who was determined to die stand- 
ing. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 297 

The American felt desperately nervous. It was 
unnatural. If the young man had burst into 
vehement words — if he had been violent and 
unmanageable it would have been natural. But 
this? 

He felt really frightened; and his fears increased 
when a man’s voice spoke his name. It was Dr. 
Helstan. The old man, bare-headed, had crossed 
the road. He was standing close to them. In his 
hand he held a newspaper. Senator Willard took 
a step or two forward. He stood between father 
and son. Dr. Helstan smiled. There was a look 
on his face which Mr. Willard had never seen there 
before. In its calm sweet dignity it seemed like 
the face of a pictured saint. Jack took no notice 
of his father. He stood still and stared out over 
the water. 

For a long moment there was silence. Then Dr. 
Helstan laid his hand on his son’s arm. 

“ Come up to my room, Jack. And you, Senator. 
I have something to say to you both.” 

The violence for which the American had longed 
suddenly sprang into life. There was fury in Jack’s 
eyes. A flame of vehement hate. He said some- 
thing. The words were inarticulate, but the look 
on his face was unmistakable. Mr. Willard looked 
imploring. 


298 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

“ Not just now — I think. Later on, if that will 
suit you — Dr. Helstan ? ” 

The old man smiled. 

“ Now,” he said. “ I have something to say 
which must be said now.” 

Jack shook his head, violently; but the old man 
insisted. 

“ Come,” he said ; and there was something in 
his tone which forced obedience. 

They crossed the road and entered the hotel. 
When they reached the staircase Jack stood still. 
He had come to an end of self-control. He felt that 
if the old man spoke of her he must kill him. 

Dr. Helstan mounted the stairs instead of taking 
the ascenseur. At the bend he turned and again 
spoke the single word, “ Come.” 

****** 

The old man shut and locked the door. 

Then he came close to his son and laid his hands 
on the broad shoulders. 

“ You love her?” 

Jack made a violent movement. He did not ac- 
tually strike his father, but his movement was so 
rough that the old man staggered. Senator Wil- 
lard rushed forward. 

“ Dr. Helstan — I implore you. Not now. 
Later on — but not now.” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 299 

The old man waved him away, very kindly. 
He was breathless. He shook his head and 
smiled. 

“ What I have to say must be said now Senator. 
Jack hates me, or thinks he does. That doesn’t 
matter. I want him to answer my question.” 

“ What do you know about — Madame Ourman- 
sky?” 

The sneering words broke from Jack. His 
clenched hands were trembling. 

“ I don’t know Madame Ourmansky at all. I 
asked you if you loved Mrs. Bellew? ” 

“When she was Mrs. Bellew — yes! With all 
my heart and soul and body. More than I love' 
any other creature in the world. I would have 
gone to her — lived with her — died with her — if I 
had had to go over your dead body — you who are 
my father — you who could never understand.” 

“ Helstan ! ” 

The Senator spoke the single word in agony. He 
walked to the door and turned the handle. It did 
not open. 

“ I have the key, Senator.” 

The old man’s face was calm and beautiful. 
His son’s violent, horrible words did not seem to 
have disturbed him. It even seemed that they had 
made him happy. 


300 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

With a firm step he went to the writing-table 
and took out a letter. He handed it to the Amer- 
ican. 

“ Please read this aloud, Senator. Right through 
— right to the end.” 

Mr. Willard glanced fearfully at the white sheets 
of paper. Then he turned to the signature. He 
uttered a cry of amazement. Then he gave back 
the letter. 

“ No. No. Impossible. This is not my affair. 
I have no right to unveil secrets — not my own 
secrets. I beg of you to excuse me, Dr. Helstan. 
I really must insist.” 

He again walked to the door. But the old man 
shook his head. 

“ I also ‘ insist/ Senator. And this is my room. 
You will do me a great favor if you read aloud that 
letter — from the first word to the last.” 

Jack came to the Senator’s side. He caught 
sight of the familiar writing. He seized the sheets 
of paper roughly. Dr. Helstan thrust aside his 
arms. 

“ No, Jack. It is the Senator who must read 
that letter — he must read it aloud and you must 
listen.” 

* * * * * sjc 

Senator Willard began to read. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 301 

At the first words Jack caught his father’s arm 
and stared into his face. 

“ You know her? ” he said. “ You know her? ” 

“ I know her quite well, Jack.” 

There was a moment of hideous silence. The 
concentrated fury in the young man’s eyes was 
dreadful, but he held himself back. What he had 
to say — or do — could wait. 

Senator Willard read aloud, slowly. 

He read on to the end. He even read the pitiful 
little postscript. 

* * * * * * 

Jack Helstan saw letters of fire on the wall. He 
watched them steadily. They formed themselves 
into words. “ I am not really going to Italy — that, 
of course, you must have understood ! ” A crim- 
son flame caught the letters and made them brilliant 
— dazzling. “ I am not really going to Italy — 
when this letter reaches you I shall be in Paris — the 
Villa Leon.” 

* * * * * * 

“ Father!” 

“ My boy!” 

Jack suddenly buried his head in his arms. The 
old man looked at him. Then he turned to the 
American. 

“ You must excuse my insistence, Senator. 


302 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

You’ve seen so much that it was necessary for 
you to see, and know, the whole truth. That poor 
girl took a desperate ‘ way out,’ but I expect her 
deceit will be forgiven. I for one forgive it. It’s 
a strange affair, but there it is. I wonder if you 
could come to Paris with us — this evening? I’d 
enjoy your society, and from this on we must 
have everything above board. No hole-and-corner 
business.” 

“ You are going to Paris — this evening? ” 

Senator Willard looked absolutely amazed. The 
old man smiled. 

“ Why, my dear sir, who do you think is going 
to perform the marriage service? Do you imagine 
that I’m too old and feeble to do my duty? ” 

“ Marriage? ” 

“ Yes. My son’s marriage with Mrs. Bellew.” 
The old man walked quietly to the table and laid 
his hand on the bowed head. 

“ We’ll have a tough time of it — that’s cer- 
tain. But you’ll stand by, Senator. And we must 
gather in that nice Mrs. Wainright and one or two 
others. I’m all in favor of quiet weddings, but 
we shall have to give the newspapers something to 
print — just as a set-off for the lies they printed 
this morning.” 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 303 

Dr. Helstan was taking a cup of tea in the hall. 

He was sitting with Senator Willard, waiting for 
the arrival of the omnibus. The American thought 
that a light from Heaven must be shining straight 
on that calm old face. It was beautiful. 

They had been speaking of ordinary things. 
Then, suddenly, the old man said — 

“ I’ve often grumbled about the slow progress 
of Christianity, but I begin to understand it. I 
tell you, Senator, it isn’t easy to be a working 
Christian.” 

Mr. Willard smiled. 

“ I quite agree. But — you were thinking ? ” 

“ I was realizing that it’s a good deal easier to 
preach Christianity than to be a real Christian — 
that’s to say, a follower of Christ. I believe that 
hardly any of us realize that repentance, when it’s 
real, washes out the stain — right out. We all en- 
joy being in a position to forgive. We linger over 
the business — make a luxury of it. Tell me, Sen- 
ator — do you suppose that the Master went on 
forgiving the repentant thief — when they both 
reached Paradise? Do you suppose He ever re- 
membered the sins which had been wiped out — 
much less alluded to them ? ” 

“ Dr. Helstan.” 

“ Just so ! Didn’t I tell you that it’s mighty hard 


304 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

to be a real Christian? And it’s because we, most 
of us, aren’t * real ’ that the progress is so slow. 
We must buck up, Senator. We must see to it that 
we’re really following in His steps — even if we’re 
only staggering along.” 


CHAPTER XX 


B ETTY was sitting in a wicker arm-chair by an 
open window in the neat but rather shabby 
room which represented her “ boudoir ” at the Villa 
Leon. 

She was feeling desperately tired. 

All the morning she had been making a brave ef- 
fort to seem content, even happy. She and “ dear 
old Penny Brownlow ” had been hanging up pictures 
and tying on ribbon bows and making elaborate crin- 
kle-paper covers for two large pots of ferns which 
occupied proud positions on shaky black pedestals. 
Miss Brownlow was determined to make “ the blue 
suite ” — her own title for the two communicating 
rooms on the second floor in which she had installed 
her idol — “ very chic ! ” She had stealthily snatched 
an ornament here and a picture there. Her “ guests ” 
were good-natured — they would not mind ; perhaps 
they would never miss the stolen treasures. 

It had been an exciting morning for Penny 
Brownlow. She had been consumed by loving 
curiosity, but she had not asked questions. If 
305 


306 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

the beautiful woman she worshiped consented to 
remain with her a year — all her life — she would 
never ask a question. All the same she was wildly 
excited, eaten up by wholly natural curiosity. 
She was a tremendous novel reader. Her regular 
subscription to a famous lending library in the 
rue de Rivoli represented the luxury of her busy 
life. At night, often very late, when every one 
in the house had eaten and drunk and scolded 
and made unreasonable requests as much as he 
or she wanted, Miss Brownlow used to creep softly 
up to her room on “ the fourth,” lock the door, 
light a reading-lamp which had a fascinating pink 
shade, make a cup of strong tea, and — slip out into 
the beautiful land of dreams! With her favorite 
heroes and heroines she felt she really lived. All 
the rest was mere existence. 

And now she had under her roof a real heroine. 
The most wonderful and lovely heroine that ever 
existed, even in the brain of a “ shocker ” writer. 
She, of course, knew a great deal about Betty’s 
life. And over and above what she knew she 
imagined! It was dreadful, some of it — of 
course. No one could say it was right, but all 
the same 

Miss Brownlow had helped to unpack the trunks 
— only two, for Betty had given Marie all her 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 307 

more costly gowns and hats. But the dainty 
things which remained had given Penny Brownlow 
a sleepless night. To think of wearing such laces 
and muslins — really wearing them — on ordinary 
occasions — every day! She had looked up some 
favorite chapters in one of Ouida’s most florid 
novels and had compared reality and fiction. In 
her opinion the real things which she had handled 
and put away — oh, so carefully ! — in drawers 
spread with white tissue papers were far more 
beautiful and mysterious than any of those worn 
by Ouida’s heroines — except, perhaps, “ Princess 
Napraxine ” ? 

Penny felt the position to be frightfully ex- 
citing. She had unconsciously assumed a new 
air of importance. She had even put on, “ for 
dejeuner,” her best lace blouse, which was slightly 
decollete at the throat. Her “ guests,” chiefly 
dark-haired wanderers from insignificant South 
American towns who were glad to live “ in the 
best quarter ” for seven francs a day, had at once 
remarked on the gorgeous garment and had asked 
questions. Miss Brownlow’s answers had been 
models of discretion. She was entertaining, “ at 
the moment,” the daughter of an Irish aristocrat 
— “ one of the Beres fords of Castle Martin — 
Madame Bellew was occupying the blue suite — 


3o8 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

she would, of course, take her meals in her own 
rooms.” 

The dark-skinned guests had been immensely im- 
pressed. Not a single word had been said about 
missing pictures — or even chairs. 

* * * * * * 

Betty was staring up at the little patch of blue 
sky visible between stacks of high chimneys. How 
pale it seemed, and how small ! 

Could it really be true that somewhere — down 
there — the sky was richly blue and the sea gilded ? 
That the sun — a real sun — was shining on bril- 
liant flowers and white walls ? That there was music 
and laughter and a ceaseless echo of gay voices? 

It seemed impossible. 

* * * * * * 

Betty turned in her chair and faced the faded 
blue walls of her “ boudoir.” 

She was grateful. Oh, yes, she was truly grate- 
ful for all “ dear old Penny’s ” love and kindness. 
She was safe — now. She had time to think — 
plenty of time. 

And she was going to think. She was going to 
begin life again. She was going to work — to sup- 
port herself — somehow. 

Her mind was made up definitely. She told her- 
self that over and over again. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 309 

And she was glad to be at the Villa Leon — with 
“ dear old Penny.” If she was not feeling so des- 
perately tired she could better realize how glad she 
felt. 

It was often like that, she told herself. When 
people were tired, really worn out, they found it 
almost impossible to see things in a true light. Fa- 
tigue — or something — made things seem upside 
down. Very soon — probably to-morrow — she 
would be quite normal. 

She had been so thankful to arrive at the Villa, 
the day before. The journey up had been a long 
nightmare. She had cried for hours — cried and 
slept uneasily — then cried again. It had been a 
nightmare, and Penny’s plain old face had been like 
the face of an angel. How delicious the coffee 
and fresh rolls, brought to her bedside, had 
seemed. And then she had clung to the loving 
old woman and closed her eyes wearily. She had 
slept ! 

All through the day. Far into the night. 

She had slept. 

And when the tired northern sun crept in through 
the shrouded windows she found Penny at her bed- 
side again — with a daintily prepared petit dejeuner 
and “ all the new magazines.” 


310 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

She had felt ever so much better while she had 
been helping to “ make the rooms homey. ,, She 
had been a little excited — even hopeful. 

But now? 

She was alone. 

The new life was about to begin. 
****** 

Some one knocked on the door. Betty crossed 
the room and opened it. An English maid — Miss 
Brownlow had a very low opinion of French servant 
morals — held out a big sheet of white paper care- 
fully pinned at the ends. “ With Madame’s love, 
please, ma’am.” 

Betty smiled and took the packet. She went back 
to her chair and opened it. 

Violets! 

Dark purple violets. Masses of them lying loose 
on the sheet of white paper. The idea had been an 
inspiration — Miss Brownlow felt certain of that. 
“ Othmar ” had presented violets in quantities, quite 
loose, to “ Princess Napraxine.” She felt the idea 
to be deliciously poetic. 

Betty sat and stared at the purple flowers. And 
as she stared her expression changed. Her beauty 
seemed to fall away from her as a veil falls from 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 311 

a face. All that was left was a broken, desperately 
weary woman. 

Her eyes filled. A sob broke in her throat. She 
stretched out her arms across the table and covered 
her face with her hands. 

The violets lay on the polished floor. They 
made a little purple carpet round the motionless 
figure. 

Betty stirred. She opened her eyes and looked 
at the little flowers. But she made no attempt to 
pick them up — even to thrust them aside. 

What was the good ? 

All her life there would be a purple stain on 
her heart. He had said, “ I mean to smother you 
in violets.’’ Well, he had done it. The touch of 
them, the smell of them, suffocated her. They 
were like a pall laid across the face of a living 
woman. 

* * * * * * 

Again some one knocked, but this time the door 
was opened quickly from the outside. Miss Brown- 
low came in. She was breathless. 

“ My dear — my dear — visitors for you — an old 
gentleman and, I suppose, his son. They want to 
see you at once, and, of course, I asked them into the 


312 THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

drawing-room, but the young man said something 
about coming up — with me.” Miss Brownlow 
stopped short. She had caught sight of Betty’s 
disfigured face. “ Oh, my dear ! What are you 
going to do? You can’t see them like that ” 

Betty was staring at the card which had been 
thrust into her hands. 

“ The Rev. William Helstan, D.D.” 

Underneath there were two written words : 
“ And Jack.” 

* * * * * * 

Miss Brownlow had rushed into the adjoining 
room. She hastened back with an ivory powder- 
box in her trembling hands. 

“ My dear, my dear, your poor face! You look 
awful ” 

There was a step in the corridor. An eager step. 
Some one spoke. 

“ May I come in ? ” 

Betty caught Miss Brownlow’s arm. 

“No — no ” she said. “Jack — no ” 

But he was in the room. 

“ Betty!” 

* * * * * * 

What Jack Helstan had intended to say or do he 
hardly knew. What he actually did made Penny 
Brownlow gasp. 


THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 313 

He rested his strong brown hands on Betty’s 
shoulders and shook her ! 

* * * * * * 

Miss Brownlow dropped the powder-box. A lit- 
tle cloud of white dust filled the air. She made a 
movement as though she meant to try and rescue 
her idol. But Betty was laughing hysterically. 

“ Oh, Jack! It’s impossible — impossible ” 

At that moment Miss Brownlow’s cherished ideas 
as to the conduct of heroes were overthrown. In- 
stead of kneeling at his lady’s feet, this wonderful 
creature with the burning eyes and violent hands 
just laughed. 

“ I should say so — indeed ! Quite impossible 
that a blessed, tantalizing, outrageous little de- 
ceiver like you should run wild! Why, as it is 
you’ve turned my hair gray ! ” His eyes were 
devouring her poor little white face. His grasp 
grew tighter. “ Have you brought up that white 
frock — the one we bought from Puteaux? Is it 
all ready for our wedding? ” 

Betty looked up at him. Her dimples were out, 
but there were tears streaming over them. 

“ Oh, Jack — do you really think — can we — * 
may we ” 

He caught her to his heart. 
****** 

Miss Brownlow held her breath. She tiptoed to- 


3H THE IMPOSSIBLE MRS. BELLEW 

wards the door. When she had opened it — oh, so 
softly ! — she looked back. 

He was magnificent! 

“ Othmar ” would certainly have knelt, but this 
hero 

Some wonderful broken words reached her. She 
fled. 















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